My Phantom Muse
by I Dream of Scotty
Summary: Lisbon is a struggling writer, her last few novels have all been unsuccessful and she is becoming increasingly concerned that her latest one will be too. That is until a certain man comes into her life who not only inspires her to write her greatest work yet, but he also teaches her about herself. But who is this seemingly mysterious stranger and what secret is he hiding? Jisbon.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This will be an AU multi-chapter fic. I'm not really sure where this idea came from I just thought it might be fun to write these two characters in a completely different setting. Hope you like it. Please read and review.

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist**

Teresa Lisbon sat staring at her laptop screen. She knew she had to write something but at that precise moment in time the words just weren't coming to her. She had been sitting at her desk in her study for a good half hour now but every sentence that she wrote she had deleted. She just wasn't feeling inspired. The warm Sacramento day outside wasn't helping her concentration much either; she kept finding herself getting distracted by everything, from the cloudless blue sky outside to the mailman delivering her letters. She looked at the clock on the wall, "Dammit!" she swore silently to herself and then shut the laptop down and moved towards her kitchen. Once there she opened up a cabinet and took out her favorite mug and poured some freshly brewed coffee into it from her coffee maker but just as she was about to add some milk, her cell phone rang. "Hey Grace," she began, semi-relieved that her best friend had called. "no, no, I was just working on the book. I'm at this point where the character has to make a tough choice between saving his wife or killing the man who murdered his child. I… I can't decide what to make him do!" she paused, listening to her friend's advice. "hmmm yeah I've tried that but I can't get the words to flow, it always comes out wrong." She sighed, "I'm thinking about going with the happy ending, him saving his wife…" Just then Teresa paused hearing a knock on the backdoor, "Oh I'm sorry Grace, I gotta go, there's someone at the door. Yeah I'll call ya later." There was another knock on the door, louder this time.

Teresa, hung up the phone. Her heart was beating faster; she had lived at her house for six years and no one had ever knocked on her backdoor. She had heard there had been a string of robberies in her neighborhood in the last few weeks and thinking this could be a burglar, she slowly picked up the baseball bat which had been resting against an end table in the hallway and slowly moved towards the door. Her free hand clutched at her cell phone as she began to dial 911. "Who is it?" she called out.

"Hi, I'm your new neighbor!" a man's voice replied, "I just moved in next door. I was just about to make some tea when I realised I don't have any sugar. I was hoping you'd have some I could borrow?"

Teresa thought back to the events of a few hours ago when she had got distracted by a moving van outside. She had stood there for about fifteen minutes watching as a man pulled up into the driveway and had a long conversation with the driver of the van. She remembered they appeared to be arguing over something but what she remembered most was how good looking the man was. She carefully peered through the curtain on the door only to find that it was indeed the one she had seen earlier that morning. Taking a moment to regain her composure, she opened the door a little.

He smiled at her. "Hello." He greeted as if he was talking to a shy animal.

She looked at the man, who was more handsome close up than she had expected, and smiled back. "Hi," She began, "err….how did you get into by back yard?"

"I jumped over the fence." He explained as if it was a normal thing to do.

Teresa knew she should have been annoyed with him but found herself feeling more curious than angry at his confession. "Why didn't you just knock on the front door like everyone else does?"

"I've never been one to do things the conventional way!" he grinned, "I'm Patrick, by the way." He said and held out his hand. She shook it, still feeling a little bewildered by him.

"Teresa." She said.

"It's very nice to meet you Teresa," He told her, "err..about that sugar?"

Teresa shook her head as if she were coming out of a trance, "err...yes, come in Patrick, I was just about to have some coffee but I can make you some tea if you'd like?"

"That would be wonderful!" he replied and he followed her into her kitchen and closed the door behind him. "Teresa, why do you have that baseball bat in your hand?"

Teresa felt her cheeks heat a little in embarrassment and was glad that she had her back to him. "I was just tidying up when you knocked."

Patrick smiled, "You weren't going to beat me with that were you?"

"Off course not," She began, "had you been a burglar, then it would have been another matter!"

Patrick sat down on one of the stools next to the breakfast bar, "I'll bet."

"Look, there have been some robberies in the area, you can't be too careful."

Patrick held up his hands, "Hey, I agree, I'm just glad it was a baseball bat and not a gun!"

Teresa smiled as she set the bat down and began preparing his tea. "I don't own a gun; don't believe in them."

"Not even for protection?" he asked and she shook her head.

"Hmmm, I thought so." Patrick said, "You don't seem like the gun carrying type."

She turned around to face him, put her hands on her hips and asked, "Oh really? And just what 'type' do you think I am?"

"Woah! Take it easy, I meant no offense. It just seems to me that you're a pacifist by nature. Kind, selfless, always putting the needs of others above your own."

"wha….how did you…"

"Well your body language when you opened the door to me gave it away, that and in spite of the fact that you are having coffee, you offered to go out of your way to make me tea, instead of just giving me some sugar. I'm sure everyone who knows you finds that to be a very endearing quality."

Teresa found herself blushing again and quickly turned her back to him. "I..just didn't want to be rude, that's all."

Patrick began looking around the open planned room which lead to her living room and study. He found his gaze resting upon the laptop on her desk, which was surrounded by empty candy wrappers and soda cans. "What do you do for a living, if you don't mind my asking?"

Teresa handed him his tea and leant against the breakfast bar opposite him, coffee mug in hand. "I'm a writer." She replied.

"Oh? What do you write?"

"Mainly fiction. I'm working on a drama novel at the moment but I'm kinda stuck."

Patrick took a sip of his tea. "What's the problem?"

"Well, I've come to this point in the story where the protagonist has to make a choice but I can't decide whether to go for the happy ending or to add a bit of drama." Teresa explained.

"Oh go for the drama, definitely!" he advised.

Teresa gave him a questioning look, "Really? You think so?"

Absolutely! Happy endings are….overrated."

She could hear a faint whisper of sadness in his voice as he said those words and felt her gaze drift towards his eyes. He caught her stare and looked away immediately. "Perhaps I can help?"

"You?"

"Yes. A fresh pair of eyes and all that?"

"I don't know. I don't really show anyone my work until it's done."

"Oh come on Teresa, I'm not gonna judge." He coaxed.

She thought about his offer for a moment and then reluctantly agreed. "Well...okay then."

"Excellent! I take it that's where you write?" he gestured towards the messy desk.

"Yes," she confirmed as the two of them made their way into her study, "sorry about the mess."

"Hey, like I said, I'm not going to judge." He smiled warmly at her and she felt her heart skip a beat.

The two of them sat down at her desk, Patrick had brought in a chair from the dining room. After Teresa opened up her laptop and accessed her novel she read the last sentence to Patrick. "So you see, he now has a choice. If he saves his wife the killer gets away but if he goes after the killer his wife will burn inside their house."

Patrick tapped his bottom lip in thought. "Hmm, tough call. I still say go with the dramatic angle."

"Really? But what about his wife? He loves her too much to let her die!"

"This man murdered his only child. If it were me I'd want to strangle the bastard with my bare hands! Oh, sorry Teresa, please excuse the language."

Teresa just looked at him and giggled. "You're right. I think I would have done the same thing. But I don't want him to come out of this alone."

"Well, there's always the third option!" he told her.

"What third option?" she asked.

"Well, it seems that the best thing for him would be to have his cake and eat it." He explained.

"You mean save his wife _and _catch the killer? How?"

"Why was the killer inside their house in the first place?"

"He was going after the guy's wife." She explained.

He clasped his hands together and put them against his lips in thought. "Hmmm he wanted to attack her?"

Teresa nodded. "Yes, she was going to testify against him and he wanted to silence her."

"Okay, I have an idea. What if after setting the fire, the killer tries to run out of the house but as he gets to the front door he finds it jammed shut and he can't open it? What if the guy scoops his wife into his arms and they escape through the bedroom window."

Teresa looked at him in awe, "God, that's perfect! Why the hell didn't I think of that?"

Patrick smiled. "You kinda did, you just didn't listen to yourself. That little inner writer of yours was telling you that you wanted a happy ending but also a fitting end for the killer."

She sighed, "I just hope I can do it justice." She began to type away but then stopped mid sentence a minute later and sank back into the chair, a look of sheer frustration on her face.

"What is it?" Patrick asked.

"This just doesn't sound right!" she almost growled before deleting everything she had written.

"Relax, just take a moment, breathe. You can do this, just go with your instincts, your feelings." He tried to reassure her.

"That's what I've been trying to do for the whole morning!" she said, exasperated. "Arrggh! The magic has gone, I've just got to face it! I'll only ever be a one hit wonder!"

"Come on, it's not that bad, surely?"

"Patrick, I have written seven novels over the last 3 years and all but one of them have been spectacular failures! I might as well just give up and get another job, like maybe a cocktail waitress or something?"

"Close your eyes." He told her softly.

"What?"

"You can do this, trust me. Just close your eyes and take a deep breath." After giving him a confused look she did as he instructed. "Okay now let it out slowly." Teresa exhaled silently. "Now," Patrick began, "imagine the scene in the house, as vividly as you can. What does it look like, what is the protagonist feeling, what does his wife feel? Really experience it!"

She imagine the whole scene in her mind's eye, her own anger quietening by the calm of his words to be replaced by the characters' feelings. Soon Teresa found herself imbued with everything they felt and her eyes flew open as a wave of inspiration took hold of her and her fingers typed frantically at the keyboard and when she was done she sat back in her chair with a huge smile on her face. Patrick look at her and smiled, "See, I knew you had it in you." He whispered.

"Thank you Patrick." She said but he shook his head.

"No need to thank me, it was all you." They looked at each other for a moment, before Patrick broke the gaze. "Well, I'd better get going. Still got lots of unpacking to do. Thanks for the tea Teresa, it was lovely." He then got up and carried his chair back to the dining room.

When he was halfway to the front door Teresa called out "maybe I could help?"

He stopped and turned around and looked at her quizzically. "With the unpacking?" she elaborated, "I know how tedious and time consuming all that could be, and you know, one good turn and all that?" she smiled shyly as he stared intently at her.

"That would be wonderful," He said, "how about you come over in an hour and I'll make us lunch? I hate to unpack on an empty stomach!"

Teresa laughed, "I make you tea and you make me lunch? That doesn't exactly sound fair?"

He smiled, "Oh, my dear, after everything you've done for others your whole life, it's immensely fair! I'll see you in an hour." He told her and then walked out of the front door.

Teresa couldn't stop herself from grinning, amazed at how quickly her morning had changed. She was intrigued by this man whom she had only just met and was eager to get to know him better!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I just want to say a big thank you to all of you who have favourited and are following this story, and to the two reviewers Amy and Guest for your reviews. Your support for this story really means a lot! :-)

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

It had been half an hour since Patrick had left and Teresa had just made her way to her bedroom to tidy herself up. She opened up her closet to decide on what to wear. Although all she was going to be doing was help him unpack, she decided that she needed to wear something nicer than the sweats she was currently wearing. She picked out a nice pair of black jeans and an ivory colored blouse and after she had put them on she tied her hair up into a ponytail. When she was finished she looked in the mirror and smiled, remembering how Patrick had smiled at her only a few moments ago and suddenly a long forgotten feeling washed over her. She realised that it had been a long time since anyone had smiled at her that way. At that thought, the feeling of butterflies in her stomach was immediately mixed with a tinge of sadness and she turned away from the mirror. She took a long, deep breath and began to tidy up the bedroom and when she was done she went downstairs and began cleaning up her desk. She had realised long ago that this cleaning ritual helped to take her mind of things; thoughts which she knew better than to dwell on. She had accepted long ago that she may never find a truly meaningful relationship again and on most days she was okay with that, she would just get by on the occasional fling, but sometimes the loneliness wouldn't leave her alone and the only way to combat it was to begin her ritual of cleaning. By the time she had finished it was 11:50 and she went to the kitchen, made herself a cup of coffee and sat down on her couch. The warm liquid brought a smile back to her face as she glanced at the clock. Patrick would be expecting her in a few minutes. She drank her coffee, quickly checked her appearance in the mirror and then headed out the door.

...….

Patrick was busy putting the finishing touches to the meal when he heard the doorbell ring. Taking off his apron, he looked at the clock on the wall. _Right on time! _He thought as he made his way to the front door and smiled as he opened it.

"Hi Patrick," Teresa greeted.

"Hi," he began, "hope you're hungry." He said as he stepped aside and let her in.

"Yes, it smells good!" she replied.

Patrick lead her down the hallway and into the small kitchen/dining room. Please sit down, it won't be long." He told her as he pulled out a chair. "You want anything to drink?"

"Some water will be fine." She called out as he walked back to the kitchen counter.

Less than a minute later Patrick came back with a pitcher of water and two plates of grilled salmon, served with potatoes, beans and carrots and dill sauce. Teresa looked at her food and was stunned, "Patrick, you shouldn't have gone to all that trouble. Really, I would have been fine with peanut butter and jelly or something!"

Patrick sat down opposite her and poured water into each of their glasses. "It's no trouble Teresa. We've got a lot of work to get through today, we need to keep our strength up."

Teresa took a bite of the perfectly grilled salmon "this is really good, did you make the sauce yourself?" she asked.

Patrick nodded, "it's nothing really." He shrugged.

Teresa looked at him, noticing that his modest, almost shy behavior now was quite a contrast to how he had presented himself earlier. "Don't sell yourself short," she began, "this is good!"

"Glad you like it," he said, reaching for the water. "So Teresa, how long have you been writing for?" he asked, trying to take the attention off himself.

"About seven years," she replied. "It's just always been something I've wanted to do. It's my passion in life."

"It must be hard at times," Patrick mused.

Teresa nodded, "You could say that; especially lately. Sometimes it just feels like I'm fighting with myself."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Sometimes it's like there's a barrier between what I want to write and what actually comes onto the page. It's almost as if things get lost in translation somewhere between my brain and my fingers!" she looked at him and noticed that he was staring at her, "I don't know if that makes any sense…" she felt her cheeks begin to warm and took a sip of water, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze.

"It makes perfect sense." He assured then paused a beat. "You said before that you had one successful book?"

"Yes, that's right. It was a bit hit, it's how I managed to buy my house. After years of rejection and poor sales from my other books I thought that things would get easier from there..."

"But they didn't" he guessed.

She shook her head, "No. I can't explain it. No matter what I try I just haven't been able to re-create that same degree of success."

Patrick looked at Teresa and it was obvious to him that she was a woman in conflict with herself. It was then that he had an idea."Sounds to me like your muse has gone AWOL!"

Teresa laughed softly, "I guess it has."

"Then," he began, "what you need is a new muse to inspire you!"

"If only they sold them at the store!"

He looked into her emerald-green eyes, "This is your lucky day Teresa."

"Oh really?" she asked, "and why is that exactly?" her tone light, playful.

"I could help you, if you want?"

"You?" she asked incredulously.

He nodded, "I...have some experience in that field. I…." He trailed off, "I could help bring out that inner writer in you. What do you say?"

Teresa was a little taken back by his offer. "Why?"

He shrugged, "I have nothing else to do, you need my help and I think it might be fun!"

"I need your help do I?" she tried to sound annoyed but she couldn't keep the amusement out of her voice.

"Come on," he coaxed, "what do you say? I think we'll work well together!"

She gave him a skeptical look while she thought it over, "hmmm….okay, as long as you don't expect a cut of the profits!"

He put his hand on his heart and feigned offense, "I assure you there is no financial motive my dear!"

Teresa giggled. "Okay," she relented, "but on a trial basis."

"You doubt my abilities?" he challenged, raising an eyebrow in the process.

"Well this is my livelihood we're talking about. I need to know if you're up to the task. A paragraph is one thing but it's different when it's a whole novel!"

"You're questioning my staying power?" he teased and she smiled.

"Well my last muse bailed on me." she reminded him. "Writing's tough. Long nights, slow mornings, are you sure you're up to it?"

"I can assure you my dear that my endurance is legendary. I'm sure that you'll be suitably impressed!"

"I'll bet!" she said quietly.

"Good, then it's settled." He said as he began to get up from the chair and took their empty plates into the kitchen.

...….

Two hours into the unpacking and Teresa was starting to really relax and enjoy his company. The two of them talked like they were old friends. There was one point when she was arranging some books on the bookcase and she had started to sing without realising it and was taken off guard when Patrick joined in. She realised that Patrick had been right when he said he thought they'd work well together, everything was going so smoothly. "You know," he began as he walked up to her carrying a couple of bookends, "I've been thinking about your protagonist's best friend."

"Oh yeah," she turned around to face him, "what about him?"

"I think you should lose him!"

"What? Are you crazy?" she asked, "he's Jason's support mechanism! Without him he would fall apart!"

Patrick put the bookends in their new home on the shelves. "Would you just hear me out? I just think he needs replacing, maybe with someone who isn't so…."

"So what?" she asked, hands on hips.

"So boring. I think _he_ should be a _she_...and younger, more sassy and sexy…" he stopped when he saw the shocked expression on her face.

"Patrick…" she began, "please, tell me you're kidding!"

Patrick wore a serious expression on his face as he held her gaze, but then a second later it broke off into a playful grin, "yes." he admitted, "I'm joking."

"Patrick!" Teresa said as she playfully tapped his arm.

"Had you going there, didn't I?"

Teresa shook her head as she went in search of another box. "Where are the rest of the books?" She called out from the hallway.

"They should be in one of the boxes on the kitchen counter." He replied.

Teresa nodded as she walked into the kitchen. She glanced around till she saw a lonely box sitting on the counter and walked over to it. She grabbed a pair of scissors and carefully cut the tape that had sealed it and opened it up. She looked inside but instead of books, this box contained a lot of old memorabilia. Trophies, cards and an old newspaper. Teresa reached in and slowly began to lift one of the trophies when Patrick came up from behind, startling her. "Those are not books Teresa." he told her as he gently took the trophy out of her hands.

"I….I didn't hear you, you made me jump." Her smile faded when she saw the serious look in his eyes.

"I thought we were going to finish off the bookcase?" He said.

Teresa felt her skin begin to prickle as goosebumps began to cover her arms at his tone. It was not quite stern but there was a quiet, eerie quality to it and for the first time since she had met him, she felt a little uneasy. "Sorry, you said to look on the counter...this was the only box here." She explained, swallowing a lump in her throat that had formed as he loomed over her to take the box.

He pulled back, noticing the fear in her eyes. "I'm sorry," he almost whispered, "I forgot, the books are near the couch. Let's go finish the living room and then I'll make us some tea, okay?"

Teresa nodded and walked back over to the couch to look for the box.

...

Patrick joined her soon afterwards and proceeded to arrange another shelf. Neither of them said anything for the next ten minutes until curiosity got the better of her. "What's with all the trophies?" she asked cautiously as she looked over to him.

He paused in what he was doing and said, "Just some stuff from my childhood." he replied. "I don't like showing it to anyone, it's a little embarrassing."

Teresa looked at him for a moment and then nodded, "Oh, okay. Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." He told her and then watched as she continued to take the books out and instantly felt sorry for the way he had acted towards her in the kitchen. He hadn't meant to frighten her. He found himself unable to take his eyes off her thereafter, she was going out of her way to help him and he knew he had to try to think of a way to make it up to her.

Teresa said nothing more after that conversation, she was still a little jumpy after the incident in the kitchen. She could not get the look in his eyes out of her head and now Patrick couldn't stop staring at her. She spent The next hour concentrating on what had to be done, doing her best not to make eye contact with him and when they had finished she had politely declined his offer of tea, just wanting to get out of his house. She knew she had somehow offended him by opening that box. There must have been something deeply personal in there, she surmised. She had inadvertently invaded his privacy and now he was mad at her. She mentally berated herself for unintentionally screwing up another promising relationship. She was just about to open the front door when Patrick gently grabbed her shoulder. She jumped at his touch. "Teresa," he said, this time his voice was soft, almost pleading, his face reflecting the same emotion. "Please, stay and have some tea. After all your hard work, you deserve it."

"I'd love to but I can't. I've got to get back to my novel. The damn thing won't write itself, you know."

"I'll come over tomorrow morning, we can get an early start. Relax now?"

She sighed, but relented and the two of them talked about the novel once more as they drank their tea. Teresa then got up and said goodbye and he walked her to the front door. "Ten o'clock sound good to you? I know you writers don't like to get up too early," he joked.

Teresa nodded "that's fine, see you tomorrow Patrick." She said and then went home.

Patrick smiled as he waved to her and then closed the front door. He took a deep breath and then walked over to where he had placed the box. He picked it up and walked over to the kitchen, placing it on the counter again. His hands had begun to shake as he reached into it and pulled out the newspaper. He held it in his hands and stared at it for a moment. A solitary tear escaped his eye and slowly trickled down his face. He frantically wiped it away and then quickly put the newspaper back in the box and sealed the whole thing up again. He took another deep breath and carried the box upstairs and hid it on the top shelf of his closet. Then he sat down on the bed and began to cry.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thank you to everyone for all the amazing support for the last chapter; it really made me smile. I'm so pleased that you are enjoying this story :-)

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

The following morning Teresa was busy straightening up her living room when she heard the doorbell ring. She looked at the clock and saw that it was only 9:50am; she wasn't expecting Patrick for at least another ten minutes. She opened the front door and was greeted by her best friend, Grace Van Pelt. "Hey Teresa!" she said in her usual chirpy tone.

"Grace? Is everything alright?" she asked, concerned.

"Yeah, I just stopped by to give you this," she told her holding out an envelope. "I was going to come by on Friday but Wayne and I are going away this weekend and I needed time to pack, so I thought I'd drop by today."

Teresa frowned a little "Oh Grace, you didn't have to do this for me again." She said as she invited her in.

"It's the least I can do, after everything you've done for me. I mean, you helped me and Wayne get together, and he's just the sweetest guy I've ever known!"

"Thank you." She said softly, her voice filled with gratitude.

Grace gave her a quizzical look, "Teresa, is something wrong?" she asked.

"No, why?"

"Well, you've been cleaning up….." she said as she looked around. "you only do that when you're upset?"

"Actually, I'm expecting someone. He'll be here shortly." She told her.

"_He?_" Grace inquired, her interest now peaked.

Teresa felt a slight blush creep up her cheeks, "It's not like that. He's my new neighbor, he's coming over to help me with something."

Grace raised an eyebrow, "That _something_ would involve the two of you in…"

"_No!_" Teresa interrupted, her face getting hotter. "He's helping me with my novel." She explained.

"The love scenes?" Grace asked, almost giggling.

"Grace!"

"Okay, okay. I'll stop! So what's he like?"

Teresa thought about this for a second before saying, "he's….he's kinda nice. I was helping him unpack yesterday and he made us lunch – he can really cook!"

"Hmmm so far so good," Grace said. "What's his name?"

"Patrick."

"Patrick what?" Grace asked.

"I don't know. I only just met him. But.."

"But what?"

"When I was over there helping him I accidentally opened a box full of his personal stuff, you know like old trophies? He said they were things from his childhood and that he was embarrassed to let anyone else see them, which I completely understand….but the thing is, we were getting on fine before that, but afterwards…he started acting a little strange!"

Grace frowned, "Strange like how?"

"He kept staring at me the whole time; I think he was really upset."

"Did he say anything?"

"No, neither of us did, until I made to leave and he tried to apologize. We had some tea and talked a little. We kinda went back to normal after that, but it was a little creepy!"

"Be careful Teresa. After what happened with Jack…"

"I know," she said, unconsciously hugging herself in the process.

"I better go, get out of the way before your neighbor arrives, but if you ever need anything, just call okay?"

"I will. Thanks again Grace, for everything. I'll pay you back soon, I promise. Patrick's really good, I'm sure this book will turn things around!" she told her.

"No problem Teresa. It's okay really. Take care."

Teresa nodded, "Say hi to that boyfriend of yours for me!"

Grace smiled, "I will." She gave her best friend a hug and said goodbye.

After closing the front door Teresa slowly walked into the kitchen where she was startled by a male voice. "So, I'm really good am I?" He asked, a huge grin on his face.

"Patrick!" she exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch.

He smiled, "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

She looked at him as he leant against the door frame, his arms crossed but relaxed. "How did you get in here and how long have you been standing there?"

"Oh not long, just got here, and the door was already opened. That's not very safe." He explained.

"It's hot, I needed some air so I left it opened and besides no one usually jumps over the fence to sneak in!" Her voice was calm but it was clear she was a little annoyed.

Patrick kept the smile on his face as he walked towards her. _Damn she's cute when she's angry! _He thought and quickly pushed the thought aside.

Teresa felt her anger melt as he came closer to her. _Damn, that smile will be my undoing one day!_ She thought and then crossed her arms and scowled in an attempt to stop the blush she felt from showing on her cheeks. "Let's go into the living room," she said, attempting to keep a business-like tone in her voice. "I have the laptop all set up." She began to walk towards her desk. "I had a great idea last night about what happens next…"

Patrick grabbed her arm mid-stride. "I have a better idea, let's go to the park!"

Teresa looked at him askance, "Patrick, you promised you'd help with the novel!"

He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her around to face him. "And I will. That's what I'm here to do."

Her hands now moved to her hips and she glared at him, "Going to the park isn't helping!"

He smiled, "On the contrary my dear, what better place to be inspired than one where you're surrounded by nature, beautiful greenery, clear blue skies…"

"Patrick!"

"Teresa, don't tell me that you'd rather be stuck in here on a day like this? It's like an oven in here! I don't know how you'll be able to concentrate!" he could see that she was still reluctant and he smiled at the little pouting expression on her face. "Look, try it for an hour, if you still want to come back here and write then that's what we'll do, okay?"

She sighed in defeat, "Fine." She relented and Patrick smiled.

They arrived at the park half an hour later; Patrick had decided to take the scenic route and had added an extra twenty minutes onto the journey. They got out of Patrick's car and he took out a little picnic basket and blanket from the back seat. He then led her to a quiet shady spot under a tree. Patrick spread the blanket on the grass and gestured for Teresa to sit down. He took his place opposite her and leant backwards on his hands, taking a moment to take in his surroundings, smiling as the warm sun caressed his face. "Isn't this so much better than being inside?" he asked as he turned to look at her and he saw that she was glaring at him again.

"You realise that the drive counts as part of the hour." She told him and he laughed.

"Take a look around you Teresa!" he encouraged. "What do you see?"

"Trees…grass…kids…"

_"_Look beyond the obvious!" he encouraged.

"Just how is this supposed to help me write?" she asked, unable to keep the irritation out of her voice.

"We are grumpy aren't we? Not a morning person I take it?" he teased.

"I haven't even had my coffee yet!"

"You don't need all that caffeine, it's not good for you, just relax, enjoy the sunshine." He soothed.

"I _am_ relaxed!" she insisted and Patrick laughed and he took a deep breath. "It's the beauty of nature. Look at this," he said as he picked a flower from a nearby bed "This place is so full of life, energy, how can you not be inspired here?" he gave the flower to Teresa and she sniffed it.

"I guess so." She agreed.

"The reason I brought us here is so that you can relax a little. You're too tense, it's hard to think when you get like that. Here, have some juice." He took out two bottles of orange juice from the picnic basket and gave one to her. She took it and smiled in spite of herself.

"Thanks." She couldn't help the little sliver of happiness that crept through her heart at the gesture. She watched as took out some bagels and some fruit and set them on two plates. He had gone to the trouble of packing them a picnic breakfast. She wondered how he had known she hadn't eaten yet. "I'm sorry." She almost whispered.

"For what?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.

"For being a pain in the ass."

"Meh. Don't worry about it." He replied and then opened the bottle and sipped took a sip. "Have some food, low blood sugar could be the real cause of your crankiness!" he teased and winked at her.

"Don't call me cranky!" she told him in a serious tone but her eyes revealed the playful intent behind the comment.

Patrick waited for her to start eating before he did so too. He watched as she took a big bite out of the poppy seeded bagel and began to chew enthusiastically. "These are my favorite!" she said in between bites. "How did you know?"

He grinned and shrugged, "Lucky guess." He replied mysteriously as he ate a strawberry. He began to feel himself relax for the first time since that awkward moment in his kitchen the day before. He was glad that she didn't seem to hold it against him. His felt his gaze drift towards her face and he noticed how the green of her eyes sparkled in the morning sun and how her whole posture had changed in the last few minutes. She almost seemed like a different person. _I must remember to bring some food by whenever I come over! _He mused.

His eyes wandered lazily to her hands, "So, is there a mister Teresa?" he asked, already guessing the answer by the absence of a wedding ring.

Teresa suddenly stopped eating at shook her head, unable to meet his gaze. "No," she told him, and then added, almost as an afterthought, "there was once, but...it didn't work out."

"I'm sorry." He said his eyes still fixed on her.

"Don't be, it's not your fault." She tried to smile but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Boyfriend?" he asked.

"No, no boyfriend right now. Why are you so interested in my love life Patrick?" She teased.

"Just wondering." He picked up another strawberry. "Here, try this, they're really sweet." He told her as handed her the piece of fruit. Teresa took it from him and savored the sweetness as a little bit of juice trickled down her chin. Patrick took out a napkin from the basket and gave it to her.

"Thanks," she said, "so, what about you? Is there a Mrs Patrick?"

"No," he began, "never been married."

"Really?"

"You sound surprised?"

"A little," she admitted. "Girlfriend?"

He laughed, "Why are you so interested in my love life _Teresa_?"

"Oh, just wondering!" she mimicked and smiled.

Patrick took another sip of his orange juice. "No girlfriend either."

_Good to know._ Teresa thought but kept this to herself.

Patrick watched as a crimson blush slowly colored her cheeks. _That's interesting… _ he thought.

"Patrick!" Teresa whispered, eyes wide. "Don't move! On your arm, look!" she indicated. Patrick turned to look at what she was pointing at and saw that a small butterfly had landed on him. "Oh, it's beautiful!" she moved in closer to have a better look.

He gently picked it up and held it in the palm of his hand. "See Teresa, this is what I'm talking about! The wonder of nature! How the smallest things can affect us so profoundly. Life is like that too. Sometimes, it only takes one small thing to change everything!"

They both watched in awe as the butterfly flapped its wings a few times before flying off into the air. Teresa suddenly grabbed Patrick's arm in excitement as a wave of inspiration hit her. "You've just given me an idea!" she exclaimed as she hurriedly got the laptop out of her bag. She stopped for a moment and looked at him, a gleam of mischief in her eyes. "Wait, just now...you didn't think it was a spider on your arm did you?" she asked, remembering the look on his face.

He lay back on one arm, resting his head on his hand. "Off course not! I could tell by the way you were whispering. If it was a spider I'm sure you would have screamed like a little girl!"

"Hey!" she gave him a gentle kick and he rubbed his leg, pretending that it had hurt. She smiled as she began to type.

They had ended up spending the next three hours in the park and then Patrick took her for a walk by a pond where they fed the ducks and Patrick made ripples in the water with his fingers. They talked about the ripple effect in life and Teresa made notes of a few more ideas. They then had lunch in a small cafe and by the time Teresa got home it was late afternoon. She smiled as she said goodbye to him and walked through her front door. She was in the best mood she had been in a long time. She couldn't remember the last time she had spent the day just having so much fun. She felt so inspired and energized as she sat at her desk at opened up her laptop. She couldn't figure out why she felt so happy, maybe it was the fresh air and sunshine, maybe it was the fact that she had been surrounded by so much natural beauty. _Maybe it was the company?_ She thought.

It was 11pm when she had finally decided to call it a night. She was still happily humming to herself as she brushed her teeth and got ready for bed. She had made good progress today and was finally starting to feel as if things would begin to turn around for her in her writing. She loved her little semi-detached home and hated the thought of having to move out if she couldn't afford to pay her mortgage. Once she had changed into her nightclothes, she turned off the light and got into bed. As she rested her head onto the pillow she began to feel the tiredness take over and she was knew that she would soon fall asleep. She smiled, pleased at the prospect of finally getting a good night's sleep without having to turn the TV on for soothing background noise. She felt her eyes begin to close but just as she was beginning to relax she heard a muted crashing sound. She sat up, startled, put the light on and went to the closet to retrieve her baseball bat. _This is it! _She thought, _I'm actually being burglarized! _She cautiously headed for the door, phone in hand, ready to dial 911 when she heard another sound. She stopped walking and listened and heard it again. It was a quieter sound, like an animal whimpering and she realized that it wasn't coming from her house at all, but from next door. Patrick's house. The wall that separated their two bedrooms and never been very soundproof. She put her head to the wall and listened and it soon became clear that he was crying. He must have been sitting very close to the wall for her to hear him, she thought. Suddenly there was a thumping noise and Teresa instinctively pulled her head away. Patrick was hitting the wall. Her happy mood soon evaporated, only to be replaced by one of worry as she sank to the floor and listened to him cry. She stayed like that until sleep finally took over, the last conscious thought on her mind was concern for her new friend.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry this chapter is a little later than usual but the last few days have been very busy for me. Thank you so much to all those who reviewed the last chapter, your support is greatly appreciated and I really hope you like this chapter too! :-)

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

Teresa was woken from her slumber by the first rays of the morning sun. She shivered a little, feeling a slight chill creep across her body. Her eyes still closed, she reached for her blanket, but after a few seconds of waving her arm around in a futile attempt to find it, she gave up and decided to just lie back against the pillows. "Ow!" she complained as her head hit something hard. She opened her eyes and saw that she was not in her bed at all. The memories of the previous night soon came flooding back to her and she remembered that she had fallen asleep resting against the wall. Slowly she sat up straight, her back aching a little from sleeping in such an uncomfortable position. She played the events of last night over and over again in her head, wondering what had happened to make Patrick so upset. She thought back to the events of yesterday morning, trying to determine if she had inadvertently done something to upset him but she couldn't think of anything. He had been nothing but sweet and funny with her all day and they had had such a good time together. Her heart broke a little at the thought of him sitting on the floor with tears rolling down his face. Picking herself off the floor, she decided that she would try to find out what was wrong and maybe offer to help him; but first she needed to have a shower.

She made her way to the bathroom and turned the shower on. The warm water helped ease her aches away and she found herself conjuring up a plan on how she would bring the subject up. It was not going to be easy, she could tell from his reaction to her looking in that box that he was a private man, so talking about this might be hard for him. She then remembered back to when she was helping him unpack and how he had been snacking on blueberry muffins and an idea came into her head. She would make him a batch of blueberry muffins. It would be a way to thank him for his help and she hoped that it would also put a smile on his face; she loved that smile. Teresa was slightly taken back by these thoughts; she had only spent two days with him and yet she felt as if she had known him a lot longer. She couldn't explain it but she felt strangely drawn to him.

After showering, Teresa went to her closet to put on some clothes, then moved to her dresser, which was near the window and drew back the curtains. She was just about to pick up her hairbrush to brush her hair when something caught her eye. She walked towards the window and looked out. Patrick was talking to Mrs Chan, an elderly woman who lived a few doors away. Teresa watched as he talked to her; he had obviously said something nice, as he had made her smile. He was good at bringing that out of people, she thought, and a little smile broke out on her own face. Patrick then said goodbye to Mrs Chan and walked over to his car, opened the door and got in. Teresa watched as he slowly pulled out of the drive. _He's probably gone to run some errands. _She thought. They had made plans to meet that afternoon to work on the novel so Teresa had plenty of time to get the baking done. She quickly brushed her hair and walked downstairs and into the kitchen to get to work.

Patrick Jane sat under a shady tree on a wooden bench which sheltered him from the warm Malibu sunshine. He had been there for the last twenty minutes, caught up in his thoughts until a female voice shook him from his reverie. "Patrick." She spoke softly and he stood up and turned to her. "Maria!" he greeted; his voice just as soft, as he hugged her gently and then let her go. "It's been a long time. How are you?"

"Okay I guess. The time has gone so fast."

"I know. I can't believe it's been a year already." He looked down at his shoes then, unable to meet her eyes. "I've been thinking about calling you, to see if you need anything."

"I'm fine Patrick. I have Enrique, he looks after me."

When Patrick looked at her again his eyes had begun to glaze over with unshed tears. "I'm sorry Maria. I should have done more, should have been there when…"

"Patrick, we've been through this..."

"If I'd just listened…"

"Patrick, stop!" she held both of his hands in hers and looked into his eyes, "There was nothing you could have done to change this. It took me a while to realise that."

"You blamed me." He said simply, already knowing the answer.

Maria nodded and whispered, "Yes, at first, but that was before I read his diary. Patrick, you were like the father he never had and you treated him better than his real father ever did. It's not your fault." She soothed, "It's not your fault."

He squeezed her hands and tried to smile, but it turned into a slight grimace instead.

"How long have we known each other Patrick?"

"Ten years." He replied.

"Exactly. Ten years, it's a long time. I know you Patrick. I know your heart. You're a good man."

"Not so good, Maria, not so good. I have been selfish and it has cost us both dearly." He paused, daring to look her in the eyes once more. "And that will stay with me until the day I die."

A short silence swirled between then, each caught up in their own thoughts before Maria spoke, "I tried to visit you yesterday, but your neighbor said you had moved."

Patrick nodded, "I live in Sacramento now. It just got to the point where I had to get away. Make a fresh start."

"That's good Patrick. You need to start living your life again. Meet someone, fall in love."

Patrick smirked at that last part. "I don't think that's such a good idea Maria. Everyone I get close to...well let's just say they're better off without me in their lives." He tried to make a joke of it, laughing it off but his eyes betrayed the pain and sadness behind that statement.

"You've been beating yourself up for almost a year now; it's got to stop!" she paused, "at least tell me you've got a nice apartment, tell me you're not living in and out of crappy motels?"

Patrick rolled his eyes, "It's a house, semi-detached in a nice neighborhood."

Maria nodded, satisfied with his answer. "Maybe I'll come visit sometime, once you've settled in?"

Patrick smiled his first genuine smile since he arrived there. "I would love that."

Maria smiled back. "and get yourself a job!" she told him, "a proper one." She put her hands on his shoulders, "Seriously Patrick; please look after yourself, if not for me then for him, he would have wanted that."

Patrick's eyes followed hers until both their gazes rested upon a grey slab standing vertically in the grass. Patrick read the inscription on it for the seventh time since he arrived, finally allowing a single tear to fall softly down his cheek. _Here lies Alejandro Sanchez, beloved son. 1995-2012. _"Yes," he whispered, "he would."

It was now nearly 3pm. Teresa had been baking for the last four hours and she was beginning to feel the frustration creep into her good mood. She stood in the middle of her kitchen and stared at the mess on the counter tops, finally letting out a growl. Just then the oven timer sounded. Teresa moved quickly towards the stove, opened the oven door and took out the third batch of muffins that she had made, simultaneously smiling in satisfaction and sighing in relief. "Perfect!" she told herself. She carefully carried them across the room and set them down beside the previous two failed attempts. "Who knew making muffins could be so hard?" After washing the batter from her hands, face and hair she moved towards the bedroom window but was disappointed to find that Patrick's car still wasn't in his drive. She sighed, wondering where he was. She glanced at the clock, seeing that it was a quarter to four and Patrick said he would come by in fifteen minutes. _Where is he? _She wondered as she made her way downstairs again.

It was six thirty when Teresa finally gave up hope that he would come by and had reluctantly set to work on her novel. She sat at her desk, staring at the flower that Patrick had given her the day before. Her eyes roamed up the burgundy vase and rested on the petals. "Inspiration from nature." she told herself quietly, remembering Patrick's advice. "Okay flower, hit me." She focused on it desperately, as if she were trying to read its thoughts but when inspiration didn't come, she gave up and sat back in her chair, annoyed. "Nice one Teresa, he's got you acting like an idiot!"

The hours seemed to drag on as Teresa tried to type. She had written a decent a few decent pages but they were nothing like the ones Patrick had inspired her to write. The growling of her stomach finally told her it was time to stop. She glanced at the clock on her laptop; ten thirty eight. She was sure that Patrick still hadn't come home and she was starting to becoming a little concerned. She walked into her living room and looked out of the window and her eyes confirmed her suspicions. She picked up her cell phone from the coffee table and dialed Grace. "Hey Teresa, what's up?" her friend asked upon answering.

"Grace, he's not back yet and after what happened last night I'm starting to get a little worried!"

"Wait, slow down, who's not back yet?"

"Patrick!"

"Oh," said Grace who had finally caught up, "your new neighbor?"

"Yes,"

"What happened last night?" she asked suggestively.

"No, Grace this isn't about sex!" she took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts. "I heard him through my bedroom wall last night, he was crying. He sounded like he was really upset over something and this morning he left and he hasn't come back yet."

"Maybe he's just visiting someone?"

"We were supposed to work on the novel today, he was really enthusiastic about it yesterday, I don't think he would just not turn up without letting me know."

Grace pondered for a moment, "Why was he crying?"

"I don't know. I also heard him smashing something and then I think he hit the wall with his fist….Grace, you don't think he's gone and done something stupid?"

"You mean like...hurt himself?"

"I don't know, I mean yes, I mean….oh Grace, I hope he's okay."

"You sound like you really care about him."

"I'm concerned that he was upset. He's a nice guy, I don't want anything to happen to him." Teresa replied.

"No, no I know you Teresa, this is more than that. You're falling for him, aren't you?"

"No I'm not!"

"Hmmm if you say so. Look, just wait until the morning, I'm sure he'll be back and you would have been worried for nothing."

Teresa frowned, "You think?"

"If he was suicidal I'm sure he wouldn't have offered to help you or try to be your friend in the first place. He would have probably kept to himself and he certainly wouldn't have just bought a new house!"

"Hmmm...when you put it that way…I guess I am overreacting." She relented.

"Cos you care about him."

"As a friend."

"Teresa's got a little crush!" Grace teased.

"You are such a child sometimes!"

"Awww, come on, you know I'm happy for you. After everything you've been through, you deserve some happiness."

Teresa smiled in spite of herself. "Thanks Grace."

"Anytime. Look I gotta go, how about we meet for coffee when I get back?"

"Sure Grace, that'll be great." She then hung up the phone and went into the kitchen to make herself a sandwich and after she finished eat she went upstairs and began to get ready for bed. She was sitting on her bed brushing her hair when she heard a car pull up outside and almost ran to the window. Relief washed over her when she saw Patrick's car back in the drive. She watched as he got out, noticing that he looked tired, a sad expression playing upon his face. When he went inside the house Teresa slowly moved away from the window and sat on her bed. She wanted to go over and see if he was alright but one look at the clock told her that it was way too late to be visiting. She told herself that she would definitely go over tomorrow, but then mentally chastised herself. _It's none of your business Teresa. Don't go sticking your nose where it doesn't belong!_ She remembered how upset he had become with her for looking in that box. _But what if he needs someone to talk to?_

This inner conflict rang through her head as she made her way to the bathroom but stopped en route upon hearing a noise outside. She went to look out the window of her spare bedroom and saw Patrick sitting at his patio table in the dark, drinking. Hiding behind the curtains she silently watched as he drank shot after shot of scotch, the look on his face one of utter despair. The sight was heartbreaking but she could not look away. Who was this man and what had happened to him? All Teresa knew was that he had captured her interest like no one else had ever done. He had come into her life without warning, like a ghost, and in the few days she had known him he had brought her imagination to life; ignited the fire of her creativity. She tried to reconcile the almost playful side he showed to her and the broken man before her eyes and found herself being moved deeply. Slowly she walked away from the window and went downstairs, but quickly returned, laptop in hand. Once more she turned towards the window and gazed at her new friend. His golden hair shimmering in the moonlight was a stark contrast to the shadows on his face. The man was a study in contradictions. Two different sides so perfectly melded together; so melancholic and yet so beautifully poetic. Feeling a flood of inspiration flow through her, she decided to put aside the novel she had been working on and started a new one. She looked at the screen as her fingers typed the title; _My Phantom Muse._


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: A big thank you for all the continuing support for this story. You guys are just amazing! And thank you also to all the guest reviewers to whom I cannot thank personally. Here's the next installment - that's two chapters in five days, it's a new record for me! Hope you like this one too! :-)

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist**

Patrick felt like as though his head had been beaten with a sledgehammer when he awoke on his couch the following morning. The bright rays of the morning sun stung his eyes as he tried to open them. He eventually gave up and covered his face with one of the pillows in an attempt to go back to sleep but the pain in his head made this an impossible task and just when he thought it could not get any worse the doorbell rang. "Go away!" he tried to shout but his throat was so dry it came out as a hoarse whisper. The doorbell rang again "Dammit!" he growled as he tried to lift himself into a standing position. After a couple of failed attempts he finally got to his feet, shivering slightly as he left the warm embrace of the sofa. He reached for the blanket from the back of the couch as his head throbbed continuously and slowly walked towards the front door. Once there, he opened it, shielding his eyes from the morning light. "Teresa!" he croaked in surprise.

Teresa almost stumbled backwards at the sight of him. He looked like a vampire; complete with dark circles around his eyes.

"Patrick? Are you okay?" she asked, half expecting him to bare his fangs to her.

"Err...yeah. Are we supposed to be working on the novel today?" he asked, slowly lowering his hand as his eyes began to adjust to the daylight.

"No, we were meant to be working on it yesterday, but someone was a no-show!" she crossed her arms in mock annoyance.

Patrick's eyes widened in realisation, "Oh God! I'm so sorry Teresa, I forgot. I should have called you! I'm...I'm so sorry!"

"Well, a call would have been nice,"

He gestured for her to come inside. "Something came up at the last minute," he turned to look her in the eyes once she had closed the door. "it totally slipped my mind."

Teresa raised her eyebrows, "Must have been something important?"

Patrick dropped his gaze then, "it was." he said more softly. "Let me make it up to you? Breakfast?"

"No, it's okay." She replied. "I've already eaten. Patrick, seriously, are you okay? You don't look so good!"

"It's nothing, I think I'm coming coming down with something. Don't worry."

She let her eyes wonder over his face and she knew exactly what was wrong. She had seen this too many times before. "Why don't you sit down, let me make _you_ some breakfast?"

"Teresa…"

"Look, no offense, but you look like hell, if you're coming down with something you need to rest, and you need some food."

Patrick smiled fondly at her, "You don't have to do that my dear, after all, I did stand you up yesterday."

"I know, but right now you're in no shape for an ass-kicking so sit. I'll bring it over when it's ready."

"Teresa…"

"Patrick!" she took a step closer to him, leaving only a few inches between their bodies. A brief silence ensued as they each relished in their proximity to one another. Teresa could feel her breath quicken and heart rate jump as she watched Patrick's eyes darken, realising that her own must be doing the same thing. Her mind worked frantically for something to say, "I brought muffins." She whispered.

"Huh?" was Patrick's response, his mind foggy from both his hangover and her closeness to him.

"Muffins." she repeated, then blushed, "they're blueberry." She held up the little paper bag she was holding for him to see.

"Oh!" Patrick said, realisation finally dawning on him. He took a step back, "You didn't have to do that!"

"I know," she smiled, "but I did. So take these, go and sit down and I'll bring breakfast over in a little while." She then turned on her heel and headed into the kitchen.

"Yes ma'am." He said quietly and as he watched her walk away he couldn't help but feel a rush of affection for this woman. He smiled warmly, already planning on how he would make it up to her.

Teresa set about making Patrick's breakfast, she poached some eggs, broiled a couple of tomatoes and buttered two slices of wholegrain toast; the perfect hangover breakfast, she thought as she remembered doing this for her ex-husband every time he was 'coming down with something'. She went over to the refrigerator to get some orange juice but upon seeing that it had expired, she decided to make him some tea instead. She looked at the selection boxes he had out on the counter and chose peppermint. Once everything was ready she took it out to the living room and put it on the coffee table in front of him. "Have some breakfast," she told him gently and then giggled as he looked up at her.

"What?" he asked, oblivious.

Teresa sat next to him and lightly brushed away a few small muffin crumbs from his chin that were resting on his day old stubble.

"You couldn't wait till after breakfast?"

"I was hungry." He shrugged, then smiled knowing he had amused her. "And these were soo good!"

Teresa giggled some more, "Oh Patrick!" She affectionately squeezed his arm and then moved to the kitchen and came back with a glass of water and some paracetamol. As she set these down beside his tea Patrick gave her a questioning look.

"What are these for?" he asked.

"You look like you might be getting a fever, this will help with that, also any body pains you may have." she replied nonchalantly. "It's best if you took it after eating; easier on the stomach." Trying her best to control her breathing she casually moved over to sit in the arm chair next to the couch where she had set her purse. She had never been very good at lying and she hoped that Patrick wouldn't see through her facade. It was so obvious that after his drinking session last night he must have one hell of a hangover and no doubt a hell of a headache. She glanced in his direction and saw him looking suspiciously at her as he drank his tea. She smiled, "It's lucky for you that I carry some in my purse." She then reached inside her purse and took out her laptop.

"Did you get any writing done yesterday?" Patrick asked between mouthfuls.

"As a matter of fact I did. I'm not totally helpless without you, you know!"

He looked up at her and smiled, "I would never dream of making such an assumption my dear, for fear of getting beaten with your baseball bat." He teased, remembering how they had first met.

"Oh hush!" she replied, her lips curling involuntarily at the sides of her mouth as she shyly looked down at the keyboard. This sight made the grin on Patrick's face grow even wider. He found that he really enjoyed teasing her and making her blush.

They stayed in silence for a few minutes thereafter, Patrick finishing off his food and Teresa typing away at her new novel. She had reached a critical point in the chapter last night but had fallen asleep halfway through.

Every so often she would steal a glance at him, when she thought he wasn't looking and it would make inspiration rain down on her. Her frantic typing had peaked Patrick's interest and after he had finished eat he walked over to her. "Sounds like you've overcome your writer's block." He said and Teresa was startled out of her thoughts.

"Patrick! I didn't hear you!" she said, hugging the laptop to her chest.

"I'm sorry Teresa. Can I have a look?"

"Huh?"

"You've obviously been hit by inspiration, mind sharing with your muse?"

"My muse?" she felt a pang of guilt crawl through her veins just then.

"Well I _am_ the one helping you aren't I ...or have you been cheating on me with another muse?" he laughed.

"Oh! Right! Okay." _Shit! _She thought. "Why don't you go sit down over there and I'll read it to you?" she suggested.

"Am I making you nervous, Teresa?" he asked, his warm breath ghosting across her neck as he said her name.

"I'm not nervous!"

"Hmm most people would get nervous when someone was looking over their shoulder."

"I'm not nervous!" she repeated.

"Come on, let me see," he persisted moving closer still.

"No! Patrick! What are you doing?" He moved closer trying to glance at the screen but she was holding it so close to her he couldn't see anything. However the angle at which she was leaning forward afforded Patrick a small glimpse of the pink lace of her bra under the low neckline of her blouse. He immediately pulled back, infused with both mild embarrassment and arousal.

Clearing his throat he said, "You know, on second thoughts, why don't you read it to me?" Teresa sighed inwardly as she quickly saved changes to the file and opened up the novel they had both been working on. "And don't forget to use different voices for each of the characters!" Patrick joked, earning him a glare.

Later that afternoon, Teresa was back home typing away at her new novel but found herself become stuck regarding the main character's past. An idea suddenly came to her then; since she was using Patrick as the inspiration for him she decided to do some digging in her new neighbor's past. She opened up her web browser, ready to do a search but then realised that she didn't know his surname. "Damn!" she swore as she stood up and began pacing around the study. She thought about phoning Grace for advice but knew she couldn't disturb her a second time while she was on a romantic weekend with her boyfriend. It was then that her eyes came to rest on the stack of overdue bills on her desk. "That's it!" she thought, and then balked at the ridiculous idea. She sat back down at her desk and stared at the screen but when nothing came to her she shut down her laptop, grabbed her keys and headed out the door.

She walked up to his front door and rang the bell. Ten seconds later he opened the door. "Teresa? Is everything okay?" he asked, concerned.

She frowned, "I think I left my flash drive here this morning; the whole novel's on it, do you mind if I take a look?"

"Off course," he said and let her in. "It probably fell under the chair."

"You might be right." She said as she followed him into the living room. "Do you mind helping me look? I really need to find it!"

"Sure Teresa," he said, "it's got to be around here somewhere."

As he set about finding the flash drive Teresa surreptitiously scanned the room in search of her target and when she spotted it, she slowly made her way towards the end table near the bookcase. "Any luck?" she asked him, trying to keep up the act.

"No, it's not here, either." He said as he looked under the second armchair.

She zeroed in on the unopened TV guide and that's when she found what she was looking for. _Jane! _She thought to herself. _His name is Patrick Jane!_ Pleased with her detective skills she quickly moved over to the couch and took out the flash drive she had put in her jeans pocket. "Oh, here it is! Found it!" she said and Patrick walked over, an amused look on his face. "Well now, how did it get all the way over here?"

"It must have fallen out of my purse?" she suggested but Patrick wasn't buying any of it.

"But your purse was all the way over here." he countered, indicating the armchair she had sat on.

"I know, it's weird huh? You must have accidentally kicked it when you were walking around?"

Patrick moved closer to here, his eyes scanning her face, sensing her deception. "So, are you going to tell me the real reason you came over?"

Teresa felt her heart speed up, "What do you mean?"

"Oh come on Teresa," he said, his voice low as he took another step forward. "We both know that's not the real reason you came over. I bet you didn't really lose that flash drive; you were just using it as an excuse."

"No I…"

"You really need to work on your poker face my dear, it gives everything away."

Teresa swallowed.

"It's okay," he began, "I get it, you're lonely. It's okay to want some company." He smiled and Teresa felt herself relax a little. "My door is always open to you Teresa," he explained, "I'm glad I've made a friend here. I've been lonely too."

"You have?" she asked, hoping he would open up to her.

"Off course, I've just moved here, and everyone seems to keep to themselves, well except Mrs Chan. She's a lovely woman."

Oh." Teresa couldn't help the slight disappointment in her voice. "Well I have to get back to my novel." She told him as she rose to her feet.

"Already? But you just got here." he said with equal disappointment. "Have I embarrassed you by calling you out like that? If so, I'm sorry Teresa."

"No, no, don't be silly!" she said as she quickly made her way to the front door. "But I can see you were in the middle of drying the dishes," she indicated to the dishcloth over his shoulder, "and I wouldn't want your shirt to get wet so I'm gonna go. Bye!" and with that she was out of his house. Patrick closed the door and shook his head, laughing. _That woman drinks way too coffee! _

Teresa sat on her couch that evening with a mug of coffee in her hands. She had been debating with herself about whether she should look into his past. She had grown to like the man and she felt a strange admiration for him. She doubted whether it would be ethical to delve into his background without his knowledge. She had distracted herself with her new novel, remembering how he had told her that he was lonely. He had tried to dismiss it by putting it down to him being new to the area but Teresa knew better. There was a definite air of loneliness to him. She had noticed it as he sat there drinking last night. He was a very lonely man and that thought saddened her. She walked over to her desk and logged onto Facebook to search for his name but came up with nothing. Finally she decided to do a Google search. She scrolled down until she saw a picture of him and a group of teenagers. He was smiling that heart-melting smile of his and in his hands he held a trophy. The article was written two years ago; she read the headline: _Local youth theatre company wins best dramatic performance. _Teresa looked at the picture of Patrick, noting how much happier he looked back then, how his eyes seemed to sparkle with life, whereas they now displayed muted joy at best. Something really terrible must have happened to him between then and now, she surmised as she closed the laptop and took it upstairs.

She found herself unable to sleep that night; her mind constantly conjuring up tragic scenarios to explain the unfathomable misery behind the man with the perfect smile. With each scenario her heart broke a little more and she knew she had to stop. She got out of her bed and walked over to her spare bedroom and looked out of the window. He was there again; drinking alone in the dark. She felt a shiver wander up her spine and she wished she had worn her dressing gown. She watched as he drank a couple of shots and then rested his head in his hands. She moved closer to get a better look and realised that his shoulders had begun to tremble; he was crying again. Without thinking, she pushed the curtain aside and reached her hand out to touch the glass, spreading her fingers out as the tears began to flow down her own face. She so desperately wanted to touch him, to hold him until he stopped crying. She was so caught up in the moment that she didn't have the chance to pull away when he drew his head up and saw her. Their eyes met and for a moment each held the other's gaze, as if in some kind of telepathic trance. Then his eyes changed as some dark emotion took hold of him and he reached out his hand towards her, beckoning her over with his finger. _Come here Teresa! _He mouthed. _Come here!_


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Here's the next chapter of the story - I hope you enjoy it! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last one, it's given me encouragement to keep going! :-)

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

Teresa quickly moved away from her window, gripped by sudden panic and fear. Resting her back against the wall, she tried to control her breathing, not knowing what she was going to do. Part of her wanted to go to him, to help him but that look in his eyes had opened a locked door in her mind, rekindling memories it had taken her years to repress. About a minute had passed before her heart settled down and she braved another look outside. The shadows of branches swaying in the wind came alive in the moonlight as they moved across her face but the man who had called her had gone, vanished, leaving behind only the empty vials of the liquid poison that was slowly taking his soul. It took a further two minutes for her brain to process what had transpired and she sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around her stomach as she felt it clench. A light waft of air caressed her face and she felt unusually cold. Reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair away from her eyes, she realised that she had broken out into a cold sweat. "This is not like Chicago!" She told herself, "Patrick won't hurt me! He's my friend." Suddenly she heard a faint noise in the distance, she listened carefully, it was like the faint sound of music, so soft and yet familiar. Teresa knew she recognized the melody but couldn't place it. Then the music stopped. She let out a nervous breath as she began to rise to her feet. "This is not like Chicago!" she repeated in an increasingly futile attempt to calm herself. Just as she was about to leave the room the music started again and Teresa thought she was going mad. Then she finally recognized it; her cell phone was ringing. She ran to her bedroom where she had left it. Once there she moved towards her nightstand and looked at the caller ID. She held her breath. It was Patrick. Her hand trembling, she picked it up and answered. "Hello?"

"_Where are you Teresa? We need to talk."_

_"_Look Patrick, about just now, I didn't mean to...I mean I didn't see anything."

_"Now we both know that's a lie. Come over Teresa, I'll be waiting." _He told her and then hung up_. _

His speech was slightly slurred as a result of the alcohol and it did nothing to allay her concerns. She wondered what state she would find him in, as she got dressed and grabbed her keys. Would he be mad at her or would he take one look at her and cry uncontrollably as he has done these last few days, knowing what she had seen, how she had intruded upon his private world?

Teresa walked the few steps that led her to his door and then rang the bell, her heart was still beating a frantic rhythm as she heard him approach. She remembered how upset he had become when she looked into the box of trophies and she could only guess how he must be feeling about her spying on him in such a private moment. He opened the door. "Patrick," she said, her voice soft, apologetic.

He said nothing but opened the door further for her to enter. He led her into the living room and gestured for her to sit down. He sat down opposite her on the coffee table. He could see the guilt on her face and noticed that she had turned pale. "Cold?" he asked, seeing the slight shiver as she sat facing him, eyes holding onto the tears that were threatening to fall.

"No," she told him, but she was lying. He also noticed that she was unable to look him in the eye.

"Teresa we need to talk about what happened just now. About what you saw."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Patrick could tell by the timbre of her voice that she was frightened, though he couldn't understand why.

"I want you to know I'm not mad at you," he began and she finally looked up at him. "In fact, I'm glad you were there." He spoke softly, trying to calm her down.

"You are?"

He nodded, "I've been wanting to talk to you…ever since that day with the box." He paused, watching her reaction and saw her eyes widen at the mention of the box. Patrick began to realise that he must have scared her that day. "Those trophies," he began, his own voice wavering a little, partly from emotion, partly from the alcohol, "they aren't from my childhood." He paused, trying to collect his thoughts, "I used to work as a drama coach. It was a little youth theatre in Malibu, nothing big, we put on a few small productions."

"Crestwood." Teresa whispered quietly to herself but Patrick heard her.

"Yes," he replied, surprised. "How did you know?"

Teresa snapped her head up as if waking from a dream; the realisation of what she had said hitting her with full force. She swallowed and sheepishly reached into her jeans pocket and retrieved the article which she had printed out and carefully unfolded it. Patrick watched with fascination. "I saw this on the internet."

Patrick's mind was beginning to feel the effects of the alcohol and he felt as if he was in a trance, unsure of what was really going on. "How could you have come across that?"

Teresa hesitated, "I…I.."

"You were investigating me?" he stood up. "Why?" He found it increasingly difficult to keep control of his voice.

"I just…I just got curious." She wanted to say more but when she watched Patrick begin to pace up and down the words froze in her throat. In his current unpredictable state she didn't know what he might do if she said anything further.

Patrick didn't know whether to be angry or amused at her confession. On the one hand he was annoyed that she would go behind his back and dig into his past without just asking him but on the other hand he admired her resourcefulness. One thing he knew for certain was that he was shocked that she had done it. He poured himself another glass of scotch and walked back to her, all the time watching her in the corner of his eye. Her behavior confused him. She seemed to be terrified. "You knew, didn't you?" he said slowly, trying not to scare her further, "yesterday morning, the paracetamol; you knew. You were watching."

Teresa looked down at her feet and softly confessed, "Yes."

Patrick nodded, downed another shot and slowly brought the glass down by his side. He stood looking at her, feeling a torrent of feelings take hold of him, anger, hurt, shame and fear all vying for dominance as he tried to think of some way to tell her the truth. "Wha….what else did you find out?" His head began to spin and he swayed a little.

"Nothing, there was nothing else." She told him truthfully, noticing his struggle to keep balanced.

Patrick paused, his eyes darkening, "Then you should know, Teresa, you should know the truth about me."

"Patrick, I don't need to..." she began but he interrupted.

"No!" he shouted, the control of his voice finally faltering. She flinched slightly. "You wanted to know, I know you have. Well, the truth, Teresa is that I'm a very bad human being!"

Teresa felt the tears begin to pool behind her eyes and knew it wouldn't be long before they would fall. She didn't want him to see her cry so she fought them back. "When you were watching me, did you feel sorry for me? Poor Patrick? Is that it?" he asked, looking down at her expectantly. She nodded and felt a tear escape her clutches, leaving a warm lonely trail down her cold cheek. "Don't!" he said, his tone a warning, "I have blood on my hands, Teresa!" he told her as he too started to cry. "Do you see that boy in the picture?" he stood next to her and pointed to the article and Teresa looked. "His name was Alejandro. He was like a son to me, but I let him die. I could have stopped it!" his voice elevated once more and Teresa's heart began to beat faster, she didn't want to know, not like this. He looked her directly in the eyes, "Do you know what it's like to lose a child? To know that it's your fault!" a rush of self-hating anger washed over him as he threw his glass against a wall and watched it shatter. It was a cathartic act and he immediately felt better, his senses finally beginning to clear. He felt his breath come in frantic spasms and he tried to calm himself. It was only then that a soft sobbing sound caught his ear. He turned around and the sight that befell his bloodshot eyes startled him. There, on his couch was Teresa, huddled into a ball and crying like a frightened child.

"Please," she implored, her voice so fragile, "please, Patrick don't." She looked him in the eyes, "Don't hurt me!"

Her frightened words sobered him up immediately as he realised how he must look to her; the thought of which gave rise to a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. He never meant to make her feel this way. Sitting next to her he softly whispered her name, "Teresa."

She withdrew further into herself, "Please. I'm sorry."

He found himself crying once more as he looked at the broken woman before him, a woman who was almost unrecognizable to him. "Teresa," he said again, moving closer and wrapping his arms around her. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you. Teresa, please look at me," he pleaded, desperate to make things right again. "I'm an idiot, I'm so sorry. I'm not going to hurt you, believe me. I'm so sorry!"

At first Teresa didn't move as she felt his arms envelope her but his soothing words soon permeated the resistant fortress of her mind and she moved into his warm embrace, sobbing quietly as her tears soaked into the fabric of his shirt. They stayed like that for a few moments. Patrick began to gently rock her until the crying stopped. As her thoughts began to coalesce into coherence she realised that she no longer felt cold. A few more minutes passed and he looked down at her, noticing that her body had stopped trembling and her breathing had evened out, she had fallen asleep in his arms. With tears still flowing from his eyes, he rested his face gently on the top of her head and kissed her once. "I'm so sorry Teresa." He whispered, wondering what had happened to this woman for her to react in such a way. Watching her sleep, he realised then, that his ghosts weren't the only specters that haunted the room.

The morning sun came through the blinds of Patrick's living room. He lay awake on the couch, his eyes fixed on the sleeping form of Teresa, lying in his arms. He had attempted to get up in the middle of the night and just lay her there and wrap her in the blanket but every time he tried to move she would stir into consciousness. Patrick didn't want to wake her. The memories of her crying in his arms played repeatedly in his mind; and against his will they had taken up permanent residence in his memory palace. They had kept him awake for most of the night, until the early hours of the morning when he had fallen into a fitful sleep. As the dawn crept through the window he found himself thinking about his behavior last night and was filled with remorse and shame. That was not the way he had wanted to tell her, it had been a painful experience for them both and the worst part was he didn't even get to tell her the whole story. He knew he had to now but after last night it was not going to be easy, especially if she wouldn't talk to him, and he couldn't blame her if she wouldn't. His eyes glanced around the room until they came to rest on the small glass fragments on the floor, causing him to recall the look of terror on her face when he had smashed the shot glass. He looked at her again, carefully lifting his arm from his side to tenderly brush the hair away from her face, suddenly overcome with a protective impulse towards her. He had never felt such an instant connection with anyone in his life, but this beautiful woman had somehow reached inside him and awakened something long buried within his heart. He didn't know what it was he that he was feeling but he wanted to explore it further, if she would let him.

Teresa finally began to wake. Almost instantly she felt that something was amiss. She opened her eyes and looked around, noting that she was not in her bedroom, or even her own house. She felt a warm hand softly caress her face and she froze, trying to remember how she had got there. Then it all came back to her and she sat up at once. "Good morning," came Patrick's voice from behind her and she slowly turned around.

"Patrick!" she said, shocked that she was lying next to him. She instinctively looked down at her body and almost sighed audibly when she realised she was still fully clothed. She frantically tried to recall what had happened after he hugged her but came up with nothing.

Patrick watched her face and knew what she was thinking, she was so easy to read, it was like watching a film unfold before him. "You fell asleep in my arms yesterday." he told her. "I would have left you to sleep here but I didn't want to wake you with my movements. You needed the rest."

Teresa cleared her throat, "Thanks," she said, her voice clouded with both embarrassment and gratitude.

"Teresa," Patrick began, "About last night, the way I acted, I'm sorry if I said or did anything that made you uncomfortable."

Teresa slowly got up of the couch and made to grab her purse. "No, Patrick you don't have to explain." She told him as she hurried towards the door. Patrick jumped off the sofa and followed her, catching her arm just before she reached the door. She stopped moving as he turned her to face him. Their eyes met.

"I would never do anything to hurt you Teresa. I want you to know that. I meant it when I said you were my friend."

Teresa nodded, "I know." She said and then tried to turn towards the door. Patrick stopped her.

"Do you?" he asked, his eyes had softened as he found his hand moving towards her face. Teresa stood there as if in a trance as she felt his warm fingers caress her cheek and a shiver of delight ran through her body.

"I..I know Patrick." She said again. She felt the warmth of his breath as it danced across her face and she felt her body move closer to his, as if she was floating. "I didn't mean to pry into your life Patrick, I was just worried about you. I didn't know what was wrong."

He lifted his other hand and now both were tenderly cupping her face, his thumbs softly wiping away the fresh tears that had begun to fall. "You could have asked me, you know." He said.

"Would you have told me?" she asked.

Patrick smiled, "Perhaps not." He admitted. "But I want to share with you now, if you'll let me?" He moved closer.

"I'd like that." She said.

"And what about you?" he asked, "will you share with me?" Teresa looked at him, confused. "Last night seemed to trigger a bad memory for you. I didn't mean to do that my dear, I'm sorry."

Teresa stepped back from him then, "I don't know what you mean." She lied Patrick knew it. She turned quickly to open the door and stepped out.

"Lunch today!" he called after her but was unsure if she heard him as she walked down the path and vanished into her house.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Thanks again to everyone for the reviews/follows/favorites, it really means a lot to me that you like this story. :-)

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

Teresa Lisbon spotted Grace sitting at a table outside a small coffee shop staring intently at a magazine. She looked happy. The weekend away with her boyfriend must have done her some good, she thought. Teresa often worried about her friend's happiness. She had known Grace for many years and she had been there for Teresa during some of the darkest moments in her life. She knew she could never hope to repay her for everything she had done for her over the years, but she would always try to make her happy. Teresa took a deep breath and put on a smile before walking over to her in an attempt to hide how she was really feeling. Grace was happy and she didn't want to spoil her good mood. "Hey Grace!" she greeted her and Grace looked up.

"Teresa!" She replied and stood up to give her friend a hug. They both sat down.

"So, how was your weekend?" she asked.

Grace beamed. "Well," she began, "it was the best weekend of my life! Wayne took us to this beautiful hotel by the beach, we spent the mornings walking together on the sand just as the sun was beginning to rise. He arranged for us to go on this romantic boat ride on Sunday night and we ate lobster and drank champagne." She paused and Teresa smiled at the excited look on her friend's face. "Then we stopped in the middle of the ride to look at the stars." She giggled, her eyes had taken on a dreamy look. "Then he held me in his arms and told me he loved me and well, this happened!" Grace raised her left hand and Teresa's eyes widened at what she saw.

"Grace! Oh my God!" Teresa exclaimed, a genuine smile now adorning her face.

Grace nodded, "We're getting married! Can you believe it?" she told Teresa excitedly.

Teresa moved over and gave her friend another hug. "That's wonderful news!"

"I never expected it, I mean we never talked about it, not really. He totally surprised me!"

"I'm happy for you Grace," Teresa said. At that moment a waitress brought over a double espresso and put it down on the table in front of Teresa.

"I ordered for you," Grace told her and Teresa shook her head. "What if I wanted a latte?" she teased and Grace smiled. Teresa took a sip of the beverage, secretly grateful for the caffeine boost.

"So, what's new with you?" she asked Teresa.

Teresa shrugged, "Oh, you know, same old, same old."

Grace looked at her skeptically, "Oh? What happened with Patrick?" she asked.

"Patrick?"

Grace laughed, "Yeah, you know, that hot new neighbor of yours, the one you can't stop talking about?"

"I never said he was hot!" Teresa said, her voice elevating slightly.

"You didn't have to, the look on your face when you talk about him tells me all I need to know!"

"Very funny!" she said, taking another sip of her coffee in an attempt to hide the growing blush she felt forming on her cheeks despite her best efforts to stop it.

"So is he?" Grace probed.

"Is he what?"

"Hot?"

"Yes, no, yes..."

Grace giggled, "Which is it?"

"It's not like that Grace!"

"Uh huh, but he likes you right?" she asked.

Teresa put her drink down and sighed.

"Teresa what's wrong?" Grade asked, concerned at the sudden change in her friend's mood.

"Grace, I think I made a mess of things...again!"

That comment caught Grace's attention, "What happened?"

Teresa began to recount the events of the previous night as Grace listened attentively. "I completely over-reacted and now he probably thinks...I don't know what he thinks of me! God Grace, how am I going to face him again?"

Grace thought for a moment, "It's going to be alright Teresa, he sounds like a good man. I'm sure he'll understand."

Teresa shook her head, "What am I going to tell him if he asks? The truth?"

"Maybe you should?" Grace suggested, "It's been almost seven years now, you haven't told anyone about what happened, maybe you should just talk to him? Explain things."

"I can't Grace. I only just met him, how am I going to tell him when I don't even want to think about it." she looked up at her friend and Grace saw that her eyes had begun to tear up. "It was a long time ago, I just want to forget it and move on."

"Teresa, you've been trying to move on for years now but it hasn't worked. You can't keep doing this to yourself, you need to be happy again, find someone and Patrick sounds like he's the type of guy who'll understand."

"How do you know that, you haven't even met him?" Teresa asked, sounding a lot more defensive that she meant to be.

Grace paused a beat, "Because he has a secret too!"

Her coffee with Grace had turned into lunch as the two of them had a lot to talk about and afterwards Teresa walked home, all the time thinking about what Grace had told her. Somewhere inside her a voice was telling her that she was right. She should try and explain things to Patrick but at the same time she didn't know where to begin. She cursed herself for losing control the way she did last night. She hadn't meant to react that way, but seeing him like that; his mood an amalgamation of anger and deep sadness had brought it all back to her. The darkest time of her life. She didn't want to live through it again. She was so caught up in her thoughts as she walked to her front door that she didn't see she had a visitor waiting for her. "Hi Teresa."

She almost screamed when she saw Patrick sitting on her doorstep. "Patrick! What are you doing here?" She asked as she searched her purse for her keys.

"We had a lunch date remember?" he reminded her as he stood up.

Teresa looked at her watch, it was past three. "Did we? I'm sorry Patrick, I was meeting a friend." she explained as she finally fished her keys out of her purse and opened the door, inviting him in as she did so. "How long have you been waiting?" she asked, feeling guilty at her lapse of memory.

"An hour or so." He shrugged. Teresa turned to face him. "Oh God, I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it my dear."

"Why didn't you just go home?" she asked.

Patrick's voice took on a serious tone, "Because we really need to talk about what happened last night." He stepped closer to her, "I owe you an apology for the way I acted, and….an explanation."

Teresa led him into the living room and when they had both sat down Patrick continued."I needed to know if you were okay, you kind of scared me last night."

Teresa nodded and stood up, "Have you eaten? Do want a sandwich or something?"

"Teresa," he began but she didn't let him finish.

"How about a cup of tea?"

Patrick sighed, she was determined not to talk about what had happened which made Patrick all the more curious. He decided to play her game for a little while but he was determined to find out. "I wouldn't say no to a cup of tea my dear, but only if you're having one too!"

Teresa hurried off to the kitchen to make the tea and when she came back she handed a mug to Patrick, setting her own down on the coffee table.

There was a brief silence between them as they drank until Teresa spoke. "You said it was your fault?" her voice was soft. Patrick stopped drinking and looked at her. "That boy in the photograph; you said you let him die?"

Patrick put down his mug and looked at her. "Yes," he answered, the softness in his voice mirroring her own. Teresa looked at him expectantly. "He was a student at the drama theatre, his mother and I were close friends, had been for years. I watched him grow up, helped him with his homework. He really was like the son I never had. His father was a drug addict, he never had time for them. He left Alejandro and his mother when Alejandro was only a little boy. I guess I was the only real father he ever knew. His mother never had any serious relationships after that, she was too busy working two jobs just to support him and his brother." Patrick explained, his voice laced with emotion. "He loved to act and we were both working on a new play that was supposed to attract the attention of someone who wanted to help fund us. God knows we needed the money." Patrick stood up then and started to pace. Teresa watched as he walked over to the window and stared out of it for a few seconds, a pensive look on his face, tinged with sorrow. "He was supposed to have one of the main parts in the play and we worked hard for weeks, I wanted to get everything right. But something had been off about him. Thinking back now it's so easy to see that." A small tear escaped his eye and Teresa watched as it rolled down his face, feeling her own embryonic tears begin to form at the back of her eyes. Patrick turned to look at her. "He was becoming increasingly depressed, I remember him trying to tell me about his father, I think he tried to make contact with Alejandro again…" he paused, taking a deep breath, "but I was so caught up with that damn play that I didn't…" he paused once more, trying his best not to raise his voice again, "I didn't bother to talk to him, to find out what was wrong."

"What happened?" Teresa asked.

"I was asleep when his mother called me. It must have been around three am. She told me that Alejandro hadn't come home that day and she was worried. I went over to her house and we got in a car to go look for him. We drove around some of the neighborhoods where he would usually go." He choked back the tears as he spoke his next words, the memory, although some years old, still burned like a fire in his tortured mind. "We couldn't find him. He was not the kind of boy who would just wonder off and he wasn't answering his cell phone. We eventually decided to call the police. We were driving home when we saw a crowd of people gathered around a small area outside an abandoned apartment building. There were police there too, they had cordoned off the area." Feeling his knees begin to buckle he sat down next to Teresa. "I don't know how, but somehow I just had a bad feeling about it, you know? It was like someone had reached inside and put a vice around my stomach. I got out of the car and went to have a look….and that's when I saw...him…"

"Alejandro?"

Patrick nodded as his tears fell to the floor. "His face was…" he held his stomach, fighting a wave of nausea. "unrecognizable, but I knew it was him, he was wearing that jacket I bought for him. It was a birthday present...his blood was all over it. The police said he jumped."

Teresa move closer and touched his arm, "Oh Patrick!" she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"I should have listened to him, should have heard him out. He had been trying to talk to me for days, I should have been there for him!" He looked her in the eyes, "The last time I ever saw him alive was that afternoon, I told him to stop moping around and go and rehearse. He just looked at me; it was like the light had gone out from his soul. Like he just shut down! And it just kills me that those are the last memories I will ever have of him!"

"It's not your fault." She tried to soothe but she knew that her words would not have any effect on him.

"That's what his mother always tells me, but you know what? It is my fault. And I will never forgive myself for that!" Teresa felt helpless as she looked at the wounded man before her. She couldn't begin to imagine his pain, the hurt and guilt that he carried around with him day after day. To her it looked as if the light was fading from his soul too and it hurt her to think that the same fate might befall him one day. She wanted to say something comforting and meaningful but she knew that there were no words that would help him right now, so she reached out and touched his hand. Patrick grasped it and squeezed tightly and the two of the sat together in silence.

For the next two weeks Teresa would lie in bed at night, unable to sleep. Even the sound of the TV in the background didn't help. She kept thinking about Patrick and how he must be feeling. They had not spoken about it since but Teresa made sure that she was there for him, if he needed her. She would go round to his place every week to drop off some 'extra' groceries she had bought from the store and offer him some company; she didn't like the idea of him being lonely, terrified that he might do something stupid. She was worried that he wasn't looking after himself. He had stopped crying at night now, at least that was something, she thought.

That night was no different for her. She tried to calm her thoughts and just drift into sleep but after an hour she got up and brought her laptop to the bed and began to type her secret novel. It had been her intention to publish it once it was finished but the more she wrote, the more it became a kind of personal journal of her feelings. She found herself writing about him, about how sad she felt at his loss, how much pain he was in and how she wanted to help him, and how, she realised, she was beginning to feel an uncontrollable attraction to him; not just physically, but emotionally too. There was something inside that damaged man that touched her deeply but she knew she could not tell him. He wasn't ready for that, she thought. Not yet. So she wrote.

The following afternoon Patrick had come over to help her with her novel. She had just opened up the file on her laptop when her cell phone rang. "It's my publisher!" she told him as she looked at the caller ID. "I have to take this, I'm sorry. Why don't you have a look and see what you think of what I've done so far?" She suggested. Patrick nodded and she walked into the hallway to take the call. He began to read the last chapter that she had written but his concentration was interrupted by the conversation that was taking place on the phone. He could hear her trying to assure the person on the phone that her novel will be ready soon. He guessed that they were thinking off dropping her if this one was another flop. Patrick didn't want that to happen. He knew how much this meant to her. He knew that she was struggling to pay the bills and if this didn't work out she might even have to sell her house. He watched her, she had her back to him so he felt safe to just gaze at her in a way he would never dare to when she was looking at him. He had noted the subtle change in the way she acted towards him since he told her about his past and he couldn't help but feel a warm glow inside. He was grateful that she hadn't made him talk about it again and out of respect for her he hadn't tried to push her to talk about her own past. But he knew she was hurting; that night he saw a side of her that had shaken him and he wanted to help her too. But he realised that it was more than that, he was falling for her. He loved the selfless way she would take care of him; no one had done that for him before and he wanted to repay her back with all his heart. He was beginning to love this woman but he knew he could not tell her. He wasn't even sure how she felt about him, so he decided to do the one thing he could; he would help her with this novel.

Patrick continued to read but as he got to the second paragraph a ray of sunlight burst through the clouds, causing a bit of glare on the screen. Patrick reached for the mouse and tried to maximize the window so the text would be easier to read but he got distracted by Teresa's conversation again and he accidentally clicked on the exit button and closed the file completely. "Damn!" he swore after he realised what he had done. Fortunately she had left the folder window open and he searched for the file. He stopped when he saw one that said 'New Novel'. _Ah, this must be it! _He thought and he clicked on the file. But when it opened he saw the title 'My Phantom Muse' instead of the novel they had been working on. "She's writing another novel?" he wondered to himself and looked over his shoulder to see that Teresa was still engaged in her conversation. Curiosity getting the better of him, he began to read and soon discovered that it was a story based on her life; sure she had changed the names and places; the protagonist was a struggling artist instead of a writer but the main aspects were the same. He chuckled when he read the part when she meets her new neighbor; a car salesman who thinks no end of himself. He skipped a few chapters until he came to the last part she had written and gasped at what he read. "Oh God!" he breathed as he stared in realization at the words in front of him, "oh my God!"


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks to everyone for all the lovely reviews, they always make me smile! Here's the next chapter. :-)

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

Patrick Jane sat staring at the screen, unblinking. _This is about us! _He realised, as he read the last few lines. Patrick held his breath, unable to believe what he was reading. _She's writing about me! _He was suddenly overcome with a suddenly flush of anger. He had told her this in confidence and now she was writing a novel about it! He listened and heard that she was wrapping the conversation up on the phone so he quickly closed the file and frantically searched for the other novel, the one they both had been working on. After a few seconds he found it and quickly opened it, scrolling to the last paragraph, his mind filling with thoughts of betrayal and how he wanted to confront her. He had become so distracted that he didn't hear her when she came back into the room.

"Sorry about that," she said and Patrick was startled. "so, what do you think?"

_You plan on telling my life story to the world! _He thought to himself, _something private that I trusted you with, I'll tell you exactly what I think… _He turned around to look at her, fully intending to give her a piece of his mind but when his eyes met hers something changed inside him. He beheld her hopeful expression; those big green eyes looking at him with such kindness and trust that it melted the anger within him and for a moment he just stared, not saying a word.

"Patrick?" she asked again and he blinked.

"Hmm?" was all he could manage to voice.

"What do think of that last chapter?"

Snapping back to reality he said, "Oh, it was good." He finally said, his eyes still locked on hers.

Teresa moved to sit next to him, "Just good?" She asked, "You usually have more to say than that!"

"I think the last scene needs a little work, but other than that it was..."

"Good!" she finished.

"Yeah," he told her, unable to really focus on that novel. He noticed her expression had changed from hope to one of despondency. "What's wrong?"

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. "You may have as well have said it was meh!"

Patrick moved closer to her, a questioning look on his face, "Why would you say that?" he asked.

"Because it's true!" she sighed, "I don't think I can do this Patrick! I write a few lines and they're good but the rest is just…"

"Meh?" he joked but Teresa didn't smile. He looked at her, "Sounds like you've been distracted?"

She turned to look at him and he swore he could see a flicker of guilt play across her face. "Maybe your full attention hasn't been focussed on it?"

"Are you saying I'm not taking this seriously?" she asked, "This is my livelihood Patrick. If this book fails I can probably kiss goodbye to the house! Off course I'm taking this seriously!" She stood up and began to walk around in an attempt to work off the growing irritation she had begun to feel.

"So, you're saying there's nothing else that's been on your mind…"

"If this is about that night then…."

"I never said anything about that night…but hey, if you wanna talk about it…"

Teresa turned around sharply, "No! This is not about that night, this is about your attitude!"

"My attitude?" he asked, half amused, half annoyed. "You're the one who can't seem to focus on this novel!"

"How dare you! How dare you suggest that I don't take this seriously! Do you know how long I've spent on this, how many nights I've stayed awake working on this? You have no right to just come in here and…." she paused, noticing the smirk on his face at her words and she felt her blood begin to boil. "Do you think this is funny?"

"Firstly, I never suggested that's you're not taking this seriously; those were your words, not mine and secondly, have you ever considered that it's all those late nights that just might be the problem? Tell me, have you always been like this?" he asked but Teresa didn't answer him. He nodded in understanding, "I'll take that as a yes. That's your problem right there, you're a workaholic Teresa!"

"Enough!" she interjected, "I don't think I'll be needing your help anymore!"

Patrick stood, "Aww hit a nerve I see!" He knew he should have felt bad for making her angry but a part of him was excited to see her so worked up. The passion he could see burning in her eyes as she shouted at him only served to spur him on further.

"Jane!" she warned, feeling her whole body tense.

"Jane now huh? Oh I'm really onto something aren't I?" He paused, touching his lips in thought. "I'll bet this isn't the first time someone's called you out on that is it?" But when he looked at her again, all the delight and mischief that he had been feeling soon gave way to regret. Her beautiful green eyes had begun to tear up and she looked away from him. "Teresa, I'm sorry!" he spoke softly.

"Just go Patrick!" she whispered and walked towards the window.

He waited a beat before following her, coming to a stop when he stood a couple of inches behind her. "It's my fault," he began as he tentatively reached out to touch her shoulder. She didn't respond. "I've been a bad muse lately, let me make it up to you."

Still staring out the window she said, "It's not your fault Patrick, you're right I am a workaholic. I've known that for some time now."

"You use your work as a distraction from your real life?" He guessed. She nodded. "I understand. We all need an escape, sometimes."

Teresa turned around and her heart melted when she saw the sad expression in his eyes. "I'm a writer Patrick, I can't do anything else, I don't want to. But if this book doesn't work out…"

He put both arms on her shoulders now and whispered softly, "Hey, it's going to be alright."

"How can you say that after what you've just read?"

"It wasn't that bad, a little flat in places, but we can work on that. I just think you need to make your characters a little more sympathetic. You need a fresh burst of inspiration." Teresa sighed and started to walk towards the kitchen but Patrick grabbed hold of her hand mid-stride and pulled her back. "You're not giving up on this Teresa, I won't let you!"

"Let me go Patrick!" she told him, pretending not to notice how good his hand felt in hers.

He moved closer, "no!" he said softly, his warm breath caressing her neck, sending a slight shiver through her body. The gentleness and sincerity in his oceanic eyes warmed her deep inside. He really wanted to help her. "What about real life?" he asked, his voice still soft.

"What do mean?" She asked, confused.

"Have you ever been inspired by real life?" Teresa swore his voice sounded slightly inquisitorial. She swallowed and Patrick noticed.

"You mean like the butterfly in the park?" she replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

Patrick stepped closer, "No, Teresa." he began, moving so close that she could feel the heat radiate from his body. "I mean things that have happened to you...or someone you know?"

Panic began to fill Teresa's mind at those words. _He doesn't know, does he? _She thought, all the time searching his face for some hint that he did. She found nothing. _No, off course not, how could he know, he's not psychic! _She stepped back. "Sometimes." She admitted.

Patrick stepped towards her again, "I see," he said, noticing that their hands were still joined, he smiled, "tell me about it."

"You know that one big hit I had?" He nodded, "It was based on my friendship with Grace."

"Grace? Ah you mean that lovely red-headed woman I saw you with here the other day?" he remembered.

"Yes."

"She seems like a good friend." He added and Teresa nodded.

"She is."

"She's helping you, isn't she? Financially?"

Teresa's eyes widened at that, "How did you know?"

Patrick shrugged, "I saw the stack of overdue bills next to your laptop. I knew you had to get the money from somewhere." He confessed.

"You went through my mail?" she questioned and Patrick watched in fascination as her face progressed through various shades of red.

"Pot, kettle." he pointed out. "You didn't think I didn't notice you going through mine the other day did you?" he smiled. "I also heard you thanking her and I put two and two together!" He paused, "Your surname is Lisbon? That's nice. Teresa Lisbon, it suits you!"

"You were eavesdropping?" she raised her voice and stepped away once more but Patrick held onto her hand and moved toward her again.

"You left your back door open Teresa, how was I supposed to know you had a visitor?"

"Well most people don't just sneak in like that!"

"Meh," he said shrugging.

Teresa shook her head, "You really are something, you know that!" she said, exasperated.

A brilliant smile adorned Patrick's face at those words, "Why, thank you, my dear. That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a while!"

"You're so infuriating Patrick Jane! Now let me go, I need some coffee!"

He squeezed her hand and pulled her closer. "Coffee's not the answer, Teresa Lisbon! We were talking about what inspires you!"

"No, you were talking, I was leaving!" she tried to walk away again but he wouldn't let go of her hand and with each step she took back, he took forward.

"You were inspired by happiness!" he said enjoying their dance around the room.

"If I say yes will you let me get some damn coffee?"

"But something changed, and now you no longer experience such happiness?"

"Patrick if you don't let go of my hand I swear I'm gonna punch you in nose!"

"Hmmm, that explains it! Your heart hasn't been in your writing..." he continued, ignoring her threat. "that's why none of the others have been as good…" he was interrupted mid-sentence when he spotted her fist flying towards his face and he just barely ducked in time, still keeping hold of her hand. He stood upright once more and smiled at the look of sheer frustration on her face. "But you know, happiness isn't the only source of inspiration. There's anger, guilt, pain…."

"And sadness." She finished.

Patrick's gaze went to her eyes, "Yes, sadness." He whispered. "Sometimes sadness and pain can be powerful muses."

"I know." She replied, no longer trying to get away from him. They each held the other's gaze.

"Teresa," Patrick whispered, "have you ever been inspired by sadness?"

She wanted to look away from him but she couldn't bring herself to do it, seized by the powerful hold of his presence. "Yes," she confessed.

Patrick too, was caught in the intensity of her eyes but at that moment he didn't know whether the sadness she spoke of was his or her own. He knew he should push her, get her to confess but the melancholy look that graced her features brought back the memories of that night she had cried on his couch and he let go of her hand; guilt beginning to consume him. "I'm sorry Teresa, I should go. Maybe we should do this tomorrow?"

Teresa nodded, "Okay." And with that Patrick left.

That night Patrick lay awake in his bed thinking about Teresa's secret novel. It was clear that she wasn't going to admit to him that she was writing it, and as much as he wanted her to be successful, he knew he couldn't let her publish it. He had barely come to terms with what had happened and he sure as hell wasn't ready to have his life story made public, albeit under a different guise. He knew in his heart that Teresa wasn't trying to hurt him; she just wasn't that kind of person, but he had to do something to stop her before she had finished it. He ran through about half a dozen plans in his mind until he had a good idea. He sat up, smiling. It was perfect! He jumped out of bed and looked at the time; it was 11.30pm. He walked toward the window that afforded him a view into her living room. _Good_, he thought, seeing that her lights were still on. _She's still up, probably working on her novel. _He quickly got dressed and went into his study and took out a flash drive from his desk drawer, then he headed out the door. The humid air hit him immediately as he took a few steps outside, leaving the door open. He looked around his front yard until he saw a couple of small rocks. He picked them up and then aimed them at Teresa's trash can, remembering what she had told him about the recent spate of burglaries in the area. Taking a deep breath he threw one of the rocks, watching as it hit its target with a muted clang. He waited, but nothing happened. He then threw the other rock harder and watched as it struck the trash can with a thump. Again he waited and was rewarded by the sound of her front door opening. Quickly, he ran back into his house, out into his backyard and jumped over the fence and into Teresa's garden. He walked quietly up to the back door and smiled when he saw it was opened. He found himself thankful for such a warm Sacramento night.

As he walked into her kitchen he noticed that the baseball bat she had kept lying on the counter had gone. He walked through the room and poked his head through the doorway and saw her standing by her front door, the bat in her hands. Smiling, he quickly went into her study and was relieved when he saw her laptop was still on. _She really is a workaholic! _He thought as he searched for the secret novel. Once he located it he plugged in his flash drive and copied it over. He heard the front door close and quickly pocketed his flash drive and hurried back into the kitchen, just as she had walked back into the room. Patrick hid behind the counter and watched her for a moment, noting that she looked tired. He then quietly left her house and climbed over the fence and was back on his own property.

Once inside his living room he sat down on his couch and took out the flash drive from his pocket. He looked at it for a moment and smiled; pleased with himself that his plan had worked so well. He then walked over to his computer and after plugging it in, he accessed My Phantom Muse. _Oh Teresa, you will soon learn not to mess with Patrick Jane!_ He thought as he called up the file. He noted that there were only eight chapters written so far, so it wouldn't take him long to get through it all. He went to the kitchen to make himself some tea and then came back to his desk and began to read the first line. _It was a warm summer morning when Peter turned up at her door for the first time. "_Hmmm," he said to himself as he set about phase two of his plan, "I think it would be better if it said Peter, the balding, drunken bartender from across town!" and he then proceeded to change the story to reflect this. He continued to read the next few chapters, altering them as he saw fit.

It had been nearly one and a half hours since Patrick began his task of ruining her novel when he started chapter six. _Ah, _he thought to himself. _This is the part where she cried that night. _He read on with trepidation, beginning to feel like a voyeur. He didn't want to intrude upon her private thoughts but he knew he had to finish what he started. He quickly skimmed through the part where Peter had told her about his tragic past and was bracing himself for a full disclosure of her feelings about that night, the reason she had acted that way, but what he read was something else entirely. _Peter stood there before her, frozen with guilt as he watched Tracy sobbing. He sat down next to her and held her in his arms, softly kissing her face. _"I never did that!" he said and continued to read further. _Tracy soon found herself enveloped in his passionate embrace as he began to shed her clothes. "_No, this never happened!" He read the love scene through to it's end and when he had finished he felt like he needed a cold shower. He stood up and began to pace, running his fingers through his golden curls. _Maybe she just wanted to remember that night in a more positive way? _He wondered. _Unless she really feels that way? This novel had been almost verbatim up until then. Is that how she feels? _

It was 2am and Patrick Jane lay awake in bed thinking about Teresa. He couldn't shake that scene from his mind. He had been lying there for an hour unable to sleep or think of anything else. He began to wish he had never read that novel, but what was done was done and he couldn't change anything, but a part of him was glad he had read it, as it at least indicated that she might have feelings for him too. That was a tough idea for him to wrap his head around and he had wondered what a wonderful woman like her saw in him, but by 3am he was finally starting to become accustomed to it. He smiled and then yawned as sleep began to creep up on him. He still wasn't ready to tell her how he felt, but somehow knowing that she might feel the same way about him relaxed his mind and eased him into a deep sleep, laced with dreams about the girl next door.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Sorry I'm a little late with this update but I had a bad case of the flu last week and was sick all weekend, so I didn't get a chance to write. That being said, I have a longer chapter for you this time so I really hope you think it was worth the wait. As always, thank you to everyone who took the time to review. I really appreciate your support. :-)

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

Patrick was busy tidying his living room the next morning when he heard the doorbell ring. Putting down the pile of old newspapers and magazines he proceeded to walk over to the front door. It was another sunny day and he had been feeling good ever since he woke up. He just couldn't stop thinking about Teresa's novel and the fact that she might like him. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself to be in any kind of relationship; romance or even any kind of platonic human companionship just didn't seem that important to him after the death of Alejandro, but since he had met Teresa, it was like someone had turned on all the lights in his world again and he realised that he didn't have to live in darkness anymore. There was something about her that just made him smile. With these warm thoughts drifting around in his head he opened the door, his smile doubling in intensity when he saw her standing on his doorstep, arms so full of groceries that he could barely see her head. "Hey!" he greeted, clearly amused.

"Morning Patrick," she replied, peeking out from between the bags, all the while trying to balance everything. Patrick automatically reached out and took the bags from her.

"Let me help you with those," he said and invited her inside. "Did you rob a grocery store?" he joked as he walked over to the kitchen and set the bags down on the counter.

"Ha ha!" she replied as she joined him. "These were on special, buy one, get one free, so I thought I'd bring some over for you."

Patrick listened to her as he began to unpack. Now that he had read her novel he knew the real reason she brought these round every week. He grinned at the thought, she was such a little worrier. "You have to tell me where you shop, this store sounds amazing; seems like every week they have such incredible offers!" he teased affectionately.

Teresa ignored him and helped him unpack. "I came up with an interesting plot twist last night," she told him on her way to the refrigerator to put the juice away. "thought maybe you can have a read, let me know what you think?" She walked back to the bags and pulled out some milk and yoghurt. She then re-traced her steps back to the refrigerator and put those away too. All the while Patrick stood watching her, in awe that she had absolutely no idea how domestic this all looked.

"Actually, I thought we could go out for a walk instead?" he suggested.

"A walk?" she looked at him skeptically.

"Yes, it's a beautiful day, might be good to get some fresh air. We can walk along the lake, it'll be a good opportunity to do some people observation."

Just as she was about to answer, Teresa's cell rang. She looked at him apologetically and reached into her pocket and pulled out the phone. Patrick noticed the scowl appear on her face as she glanced at the caller ID. "Hello," she answered grumpily as she went into the living room to talk to the caller. Patrick watched as she walked away, then continued to put away the groceries, all the while trying to listen into the conversation in the next room. He assumed, based on her demeanor, that it was her publisher again, demanding a progress update. He really hated seeing her stressed and was already planning on making her a delicious breakfast to cheer her up. He smiled when he saw that she had bought him some eggs too and a box of tea. He set them both on the counter next to the stove and after he had finished put everything away he took out a frying pan and set about making her some breakfast.

He was halfway through cooking the bacon when heard her raise her voice. "No, not a chance!" he heard her say and he wondered what had been asked of her. There was a pause in her conversation and then he heard her say, "No way in hell!" A couple of seconds later he heard her footsteps coming back toward the kitchen and he quickly resumed cooking. He heard her exasperated sigh as she sat down in a chair.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she lied as the scent of bacon and eggs caught her nose. Her stomach began to growl, making her remember that she hand't had any food that morning.

"You sounded angry, I could hear you shouting. Was that your publisher again?" he asked as he divided the food between two plates.

"Err...yeah!" she told him, but Patrick noticed the hesitation in her voice.

"They're really demanding! What did they want this time?" he asked, playing along.

"Oh, you know…" she began but didn't continue. "You made us breakfast?" she asked as he put the plates down on the dining table and asked her to join him. "Thank you Patrick, I'm starving!"

He smiled, "Well you did get me all this food! Come on, let's eat before it gets cold."

Teresa sat down with him and began to eat. A minute later her phone rang again. She fished it out of her pocket, glanced at the caller ID and then ignored it, letting it go to voicemail. Patrick watched as she resumed the task of cutting the bacon, noting that she was using unnecessary force. "Teresa," he began softly, "are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She mumbled as she practically shoved the piece of food into her mouth and began chewing.

Patrick put down his knife and fork and rested his hands on the table. "Who keeps calling you?"

She looked up at him, a scowl forming on her face. "I told you, my publisher."

"Teresa, come on."

"Are you calling me a liar?" she challenged, although halfheartedly.

Patrick looked into her eyes, "I've seen how you react when your publisher calls, you get annoyed, yes, but it's different. You can usually put it to the back of your mind and at least pretend everything's okay. This….this has affected you more deeply, it's personal….ex boyfriend?" he guessed.

"So what, are you psychic now?" she teased.

"No, my dear, but you are an easy read. It's not a bad thing, you wear your heart on your sleeve; an honest person, even when you don't want to be."

"Or maybe I'm just a very good liar and I'm making you think I'm honest?" she retorted.

"I don't think so. I'm right aren't I? About the the caller?"

"No!" she replied, then added, "ex husband."

"Ah!" said Patrick, "let me guess, after all these years he's finally realised what a mistake he made and he's trying to win you back?"

Teresa scoffed at that, "No way that'll ever happen!" she sighed, "he wants to help me out, you know, with money."

"I didn't realised you two still kept in touch?" Patrick asked as he sipped his tea.

"We don't, but my brothers just couldn't keep their mouths shut apparently!"

"Your brothers?"

"Tommy and James." She leaned forward and put her hands on her head. "Oh Patrick, I really appreciate everything Grace has done but….she's getting married now, she needs to save her money. I can't keep taking from her month after month. So I asked Tommy for a loan...I guess he told James I was in trouble and he told Jack! God I could kill them!"

"Hey," he began as his right arm slowly moved across the table and his fingers touched her elbow, causing her to look up at him again. "fratricide isn't the answer." he said and she giggled in spite of herself, the sound of which was like a sweet melody to his ears and he found himself tenderly stroking her elbow with his index finger, an unconscious gesture but one that did not go unnoticed to Teresa. She blushed but was warmed by his touch. She gazed into his eyes, transfixed by their intensity and before she knew it she found herself daydreaming about the love scene from her secret novel, before she caught herself and pulled away.

"Let's finish breakfast, we have a lot of work to do today. We're almost two-thirds of the way through. I've never been so excited about a novel in a long time, and it's thanks to you Patrick." She smiled shyly at his own brilliant smile.

"It's been a pleasure, my dear."

As they both continued to eat their food. Teresa noticed that there was something different about the way he looked at her today; it was a lot more intense than before, almost like the way a potential lover would look at her, as if he were undressing her with his eyes. She thought she was imagining it at first but then she noticed him stealing glances at her over breakfast. She found herself wondering what had changed in the last twenty-four hours.

After they had finished eat Patrick and Teresa sat down on his couch while Teresa told him all about her plot ideas. He listened to her, while simultaneously enjoying watching the animated expression on her face as she spoke. Every so often his thoughts would drift back to what he had read the previous night and he did his best to hide the smile he felt creep up on his face as he realised that it was that very couch which featured prominently in the love scene. He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't realise she had asked him a question. "Patrick!" she said, for the third time and he broke out of his reverie.

"Hmm?" he asked.

"Am I boring you?"

He noticed that she had her arms crossed and was frowning now. "Oh no, off course not."

"So what do you think then?" she tested.

"I think it's a great idea, introducing a new character will give a story a new lease of life," he told her.

Teresa smiled, "Thank you Patrick," she then hit him on the arm.

"Ow! What was that for?" He asked.

"That wasn't the question I asked you!"

"Oh!" he said, smiling sheepishly.

"Yes, oh! What were you thinking about just now anyway? You had this huge grin on your face!"

Patrick's mind began to race, "I...was just thinking about the way you wolfed down that bacon this morning, you must have been really hungry. You know you really shouldn't skip meals, it does strange things to your blood sugar levels! You have to take better care of yourself or you're going to get sick!" he said.

"You're one to talk!" she retaliated and Patrick was intrigued.

"What do you mean?" He asked as he grinned and crossed him arms.

"Well, look at this place!" she replied and Patrick looked around. "It's a mess, how can you live like this?" she asked referring to the unkempt appearance of his living room.

Patrick smiled "As opposed to the immaculate desk in your study Teresa?" he teased and she punched him in the arm.

"That's different," she insisted, "it's where I work, it's a creative mess, helps me think!" They both laughed at that.

"You find inspiration from chaos huh?" he asked and noticed her blush slightly, an almost guilty look on her face and he knew she was thinking of her secret novel.

"Sometimes beauty can come from chaos," she said, more softly now as she looked into his eyes and Patrick felt as if she was seeing into his heart. He knew she was talking about him, knew that she saw some noble man underneath everything, even though his own self image painted a much darker picture. He felt his heart warm at her words.

"I bet you're really good at finding that beauty, not matter how deep it's hidden. It's in your nature Teresa; you have a kind heart, a caring soul. It's a precious thing, so hard to find these days."

Teresa smiled, "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me! Thank you Patrick."

He leaned into the cushions, never breaking her gaze, "You're welcome."

Teresa also leaned into the cushions, the two of them sat facing each other as a relaxed feeling encompassed them both. A few seconds later Patrick closed his eyes and Teresa found herself staring at the handsome man before her; his golden curls that seemed to glow in the sunlight, the gentle smile upon his lips, the rise and fall of his chest. He looked so peaceful, more relaxed than she had ever seen him and she found it so hard to believe that this was the same man who was so miserable just days ago.

"Is it really that bad?" he asked her, eyes still closed.

"Huh?" she asked, confused.

"The way I live? Is it really that bad?"

"It could use a bit of dusting…" she began but he interrupted.

"Not the mess," he paused, "you keep bringing me food, my dear, and while I am very grateful, I have to wonder, is it really that bad?"

Teresa hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say, "You only have a third of your refrigerator filled with food and a lot of it has expired. You are an amazing cook but I bet you only cook when you have company, the rest of the time…" she trailed off and Patrick opened his eyes.

"What?" he asked, curious.

"Never mind."

He moved closer to her, "No, please, what were you going to say Teresa."

"It's like you're a ghost! It's like you don't really live in this house, you..."

"Haunt it?" he offered and she nodded.

"That night in the garden and when I came over; you looked so sad, so lost, hurting. I was afraid you were going to hurt yourself. You kept telling me that it was your fault that your friend died but it wasn't Patrick. I know that there's probably nothing I say can make to you believe that, but you are a good man."

He smirked, "How do you know that Teresa, you've only just met me!"

"I know. I know by the way you've offered to help me and not asked for anything in return, by the way you keep making me breakfast and…" she paused, contemplating whether to say her next words, but when she saw the expectant look in his eyes she continued, "and I know what you're like at your lowest." Patrick's eyes widened at that last part. "That night, when you were drunk, you were not just sad, your were angry."

"Yes," he admitted, dropping his head in shame.

"But you didn't hurt me. You could have done, and you probably would have had reason to, but you didn't."

He looked at her, "I would never hurt you! You're the first friend I've made since…" he trailed off unable to finish the thought. "Teresa, I will never hurt you!"

She tried to smile but it was halted by the two teardrops trailing down her cheeks, "That's how I know you're a good man."

Patrick reached out to brush the tears away from her soft face and then whispered, "Teresa, did someone hurt you?"

She just nodded, unable to speak as more tears sprang forth from her eyes. Patrick's face turned serious as he moved even closer to her, "Oh Teresa, I'm so sorry."

She sniffed but did not move away from him. "My ex-husband used to have a drink everyday after work, at first it was no big deal, you know, he had a stressful job and I was always busy trying to get my writing done." She explained and Patrick listened intently. "It started off as a social thing with his friends from work, but then he got this big promotion, moved offices and started working long hours. When he got home he was usually tired and stressed. We didn't really get to spend much time together after that, he had to go to bed early 'cos he had to leave for work at six am and I…." She looked at Patrick, "Well, you know the hours I work. We hardly saw each other and I think he just turned to alcohol as a way to cope. I know he would get lonely and as the months went on the loneliness became more pronounced." She looked down at her hands, inhaling deeply as the memories threatened to overwhelm her. Patrick sensed her distress and reached out, taking hold of her hand, encompassing it in warmth.

"Teresa, it's okay. If this is too uncomfortable, I understand," he told her.

"No, it's okay, Patrick. I...I need to talk about this, I can't keep it inside anymore." He nodded, squeezing her hand as he continued to listen to her story. "We had been married just over a year when it started. Some evenings I would still be working on my novel and he would come to me, drunk, his breath smelling of alcohol. He would tell me he missed me and that he wanted me to stop working so late and spend some time with him. I told him I would but I needed to get the chapter done first. You've got to understand Patrick, writing has always been my passion and.."

"You're a perfectionist, you have to get it just right. I know." He smiled affectionately, remembering the writing sessions the two of them had shared.

Teresa shook her head, "I should have just sat and talked with him a little, I should have just left the novel and just kept him company till he fell asleep…"

"What happened Teresa?" though he already knew the answer.

"He wouldn't accept it. He said I loved my novel more than him and...and he hit me. Hard across the face. That was the first time. Soon he would just come home and if he saw me writing he would pull me out of the chair and…" she couldn't bring herself to finish.

"Shhh...shhh, it's okay, it's okay." He soothed as he tenderly enveloped her sobbing form in his arms. She rested her head against his chest, her tears flowing more freely now, soaking into his shirt.

"One time he hit me so hard I fell to the floor and couldn't stand up, I was in so much pain. He must've realised what he had done 'cos I could see the regret in his eyes. He took me to the emergency room," She paused, "told the doctors that I fell down the stairs."

"You didn't tell them what really happened?" he asked.

"He was my husband, I loved him Patrick, and when he was sober, he was a kind, gentle man. He kept telling me he was sorry but as soon as he started drinking, he would just do it all over again. That's how I met Grace, she was working as a receptionist at the hospital. She knew. She knew all along what was happening, she told me to get help, even gave me the number of someone I could call."

"Sounds like a smart lady!" Patrick said as he softly stroked her head.

"For weeks I thought about it and I was going to leave him when…one day I found out I was pregnant. Jack had always wanted a family so I thought this would make him happy." Patrick looked shocked, "Did it?"

"Yes! He was overjoyed, he stopped drinking and everything was good again. Then about 2 months later Jack comes home and tells me that his company was losing money and that he was being laid off. He was so depressed, there was nothing I could say to console him, so he went out. He came home around three in the morning, I was asleep. He kicked open the bedroom door which woke me up, I asked him to come to bed and that's when he got mad. He...he just lost it. I don't remember everything that happened but all I know is that one minute I was sitting in bed and the next I was on the floor and he was hitting me, shaking me, blaming me for everything that had happened!"

Patrick felt the blood begin to boil in his veins as a surge of anger built up within him. He wanted to hurt the man that had hurt the special woman in his arms, so long ago. He wanted to say something comforting to her but was choked on his own feelings.

"I remember crying and trying to tell him I was sorry, but then he pulled a gun on me!"

"Oh shit!" Patrick breathed, his heart speeding up as he held her tighter.

"I was so scared Patrick, I thought he was going to kill me, he looked so angry! I begged him not to hurt me, that I would do anything to make things right again...but he just gave me this disgusted look and then walked out of the room. The next morning I woke up in pain. I had started to get up and walk to the bathroom when I realised I was bleeding, my stomach hurt and I was bleeding! I found Jack asleep on the couch. I woke him up and told him to take me to the emergency room….but when I got there they told me I'd lost the baby." Her voice had become a soft whisper now.

"Oh my God, Teresa, I'm so sorry!" He said, feeling his own tears fall. He remembered the words he had spoken to her that night in his own outburst of drunken anger _"do you know what it's like to lose a child…"_ and he felt a wave of nausea take hold at the thought of his careless words. "I'm an idiot, I'm so sorry if I scared you that night...if I had known…"

She looked up at him, "But you didn't Patrick, you couldn't have known."

"Teresa," he whispered as he tenderly kissed her head. He held her in his arms as the two of them sat in silence for a while, she taking comfort in his embrace and he determined not to let her go, feeling a protectiveness in him he had thought long dead. He cared for her very much and would do whatever he could to keep her safe. They were both emotionally drained, their feelings spent in a flood of tears and shallow breaths and it was not long before sleep took hold of them both.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I have another long chapter for you, I hope you don't mind, but it just didn't make sense to split it up into two separate chapters. Thanks to all of you who reviewed the last chapter, and to all the guest reviewers to whom I cannot personally thank. Your support has made me so happy, you guys are awesome! :-)

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Mentalist.**

It was four hours later when the two of them awoke from their restful slumber. Neither had realised they had fallen asleep but upon awakening they both felt more relaxed than they had been in weeks. Teresa especially felt like a burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She was the first to wake up and as she opened her eyes, she realised she had fallen asleep in his arms for the second time. A small smile briefly graced her lips, she could get used to this, she thought, but no sooner had that thought entered her mind than it was replaced by the embarrassment that she had fallen asleep unwittingly in his arms for the second time. She slowly turned her head upwards in an attempt to see his face, his eyes were still closed and his breathing slow and even; he was still sleeping. She carefully began to move his arm which was draped across her stomach when she heard him murmur something. She stopped but when she saw that he was still asleep continued in her attempt to untangle his arm from her body. "Mmm Teresa…" he said.

She stopped again and listened, waiting to hear if he would say anything more but when she didn't she slowly tried to sit upright. She was stopped halfway as Patrick's hold on her tightened. "Teresa…" he mumbled again and she wondered if he was actually talking to her or just talking in his sleep. His next words gave her her answer. "dance with me."

She smiled and her curiosity was peaked. She wanted to listen to more but a pang of guilt took over and she decided to wake him up. "Patrick," she whispered softly.

"So beautiful….Teresa..."

She blushed but could not keep the smile off her face, "Patrick, wake up!" she said again, her voice a little louder this time. He opened his eyes and was greeted by her smiling face, her two emerald green eyes gazing at him fondly.

"How long was I asleep?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse.

"I don't know, I fell asleep too!" she told him. He smiled at the little blush forming on her cheeks.

"Well I guess we both needed it," he said and then noticed that his arm was wrapped tightly around her waist. "Sorry he said, and then gently let her go. "Are you okay Teresa?"

She was touched by the obvious concern in his voice and felt instantly bereft when his arm left her body and she began to wish she hadn't woken him. He noticed that she hadn't moved, even though he was no longer holding her in place and he too was now smiling. "I'm fine Patrick," she told him. "I...I...just…" she looked at his smiling face, so warm and kind and she felt overcome with a rush of affection just then at the thought of how he had comforted her. He had been nothing but sweet gentle and a part of her wanted nothing more than to reach out and run her fingers through his wonderful golden curls. To softly kiss his head the way he had kissed hers in the hope that she could help ease some of his pain too. She looked into his eyes and saw that the pain that haunted him was still there, ever present, just hiding behind closed doors. She felt her arm move instinctively towards his face but she stopped just above his shoulder, she tapped him lightly there, "I need to get up!" she said as she tried to repress her thoughts about him. She knew he wasn't ready for that yet. What she didn't know was that Patrick had been reading her expressions, he knew how she felt about him, her eyes were the most expressive he'd ever seen and they were telling him stories of affection and tenderness. He felt his heart skip a beat and decided to let her stand before his body had a chance to react to her.

Teresa made to leave when Patrick called out to her, "Where are you going?" he asked.

She turned around, "Home," she told him.

"What about our walk?"

"You still want to do that?"

"Yes! Just look how beautiful it is outside, it'd be a shame to let it go to waste. Besides, I think a little fresh air might do us some good!"

Teresa couldn't help the smile at that. "Okay, let's go for a walk."

The warm Sacramento sun shone brightly as the two of them walked side by side. Patrick stole a glance in her direction every so often, noting the tension in her posture and the faraway look in her eyes. He knew she was still upset over what had happened earlier, he knew it must have been very difficult for her to talk about it. As they passed a bakery, Patrick stopped and said, "Let's get something for later?" and then he took her arm and pulled her inside. The smell of freshly baked bread and sweet frosting immediately hit them as they walked through the door. Patrick walked up to the counter and asked for some sandwiches for both of them and a muffin for him. He was just about to ask Teresa what she wanted when he saw her looking at the pastries and smiled. "Bear claw?" he asked as he followed her line of sight.

She smiled guiltily. "I really shouldn't. I know I should eat more healthily."

"A bear claw too please," he told the woman behind the counter and then turned to Teresa, "You really should, but today is all about having fun!" he winked at her and she smiled. She reached into her purse to take out her wallet when Patrick stopped her. "Put that away Teresa, it's on me."

"Patrick you don't have to do that,"

He smiled, "I _want to_!" he told her then proceeded to pay for their food and when he had finished the two of them walked out of the bakery and headed for the lake.

The late afternoon sun shone in the sky when they arrived at the lake about half an hour later. The place was relatively quiet and Patrick was glad they had decided to come on a weekday. "There!" he said pointing to a nice quiet, shady spot in the distance. "That's a perfect place to sit for a while." He said and Teresa laughed.

"I thought we were going for a walk? Don't tell me you're tired already?" she teased and he smiled, mischievously.

"I'm only thinking of you Teresa," he teased back and she punched him in the arm.

"Hey! I bet I can out-walk you any day!" she challenged.

"Oh yeah, well I bet you can't outrun me!" he said and then took off running. Teresa was momentarily taken off guard but soon took off at speed after him and soon caught him up, "What's the matter Patrick? Slowing down already?" she said and then sprinted off in front of him. "Forgot to mention, I ran track in high school!" she shouted and he shook his head as he too picked up speed.

"Now you tell me!" he breathed and then laughed.

A few seconds later Teresa felt Patrick catch up with her and she tried to run faster. She chanced a quick look behind and saw that he was almost by her side, a huge grin playing upon his face and as he came up to her and nudged her shoulder with his, causing her to falter a little but Teresa gave as good as she got and nudged his arm with hers. They were almost at the end of their run when Patrick tried to knock her off course for the second time but she ducked away at the last second, completely taking Patrick off guard and causing him to stumble and he fell at her feet just as they arrived at their destination. "I win!" she said in triumph as Patrick was picking himself off the ground.

"Only because I fell!" he replied but he couldn't keep the smile off his face.

"Well, that's what you get for cheating!" she retaliated.

"Also, I was holding this!" he said, holding up the bag from the bakery. "It slowed me down, I couldn't use my arms for speed like you could!"

"Oh my God! Is the bear claw okay?" she joked.

He raised his eyebrows in incredulity at this and she laughed. Patrick looked inside the bag and then looked up at her and said in a serious tone, "Thankfully there were no casualties!" this response provoked a fit of giggles from Teresa. Patrick looked at her in wonder and couldn't help giggling himself.

They sat down together on the ground and Patrick took a deep breath as he leaned against the tree, reveling in the beauty of nature surrounding them. He sighed, "Oh I wish I could spend the rest of my life here," he said, "it's so beautiful, so peaceful."

Teresa looked around, "It's a great place to escape to." She added.

"What would you be escaping from?" He asked, curious.

"Life. Just everything, I don't know," she looked at him, "do you ever wish you could just start again? Do everything over?"

"Hmm," he pondered the question for a moment, "you mean like, go back in time and fix your mistakes?"

"Yeah," she replied.

"Sometimes, but honestly, I don't think it'll do any good."

Tilting her head to the side she asked, "Why not?"

He turned to his side to face her, "Because even though we may fix what we've done wrong, we're bound to make new mistakes, and who knows, they may be even worse. The past is just best left as it is, no matter how much it hurts. I think trying to move on is more important." He paused, "Although, sometimes I think time travel would be easier." He let out a small laugh but it was clear to Teresa there was real pain behind the gesture.

Teresa nodded, "It's hard." She agreed, "Sometimes...I would think of all the good times we had together and I feel…loss. I feel like I'm ready to forgive him for everything and take him back just so we can have those times again." She looked down at her hands, "Before the drinking started we had a good marriage...but then I remember…and I know I could never have those times again. It's gone."

"I know." He whispered, "What really hurts…" he began, feeling his eyes fill with tears, "is knowing that the last moments I spent with him...those will always be the last memories I will ever have of him," He sniffed as a single tear fell, "there'll be no more new memories." He wiped away the tear and realised that Teresa's eyes had also begun to water. He watched her hands as they began to rummage around in her purse. A few seconds later, she pulled out a box of matches.

"I've been carrying this around with me for six years!" she told him.

"A matchbox?"

"This was…" she paused, reconsidering her words, "we had been dating for a while and there was this one evening he had invited me over to his place for dinner, but in the middle of our meal the power went out." her laugh was tinged with a bitter-sweetness as she continued, "we were in total darkness but then Jack found some candles and he lit them with one of the matches from this box. We ate our dinner by candlelit and then we ended up cuddling on the sofa. That was the first time he told me he loved me." Her voice was choked with emotion. She looked ahead at the trees and the body of water and inhaled deeply. "This was supposed to help me remember the good times…but lately it's become a weight." She looked at him, "I want to let it go Patrick, I just want to let it all go."

Patrick watched her intently, tapping his bottom lip as he considered her words. "I know what you need do!" he said as he sat upright.

Teresa looked at him askance as he began to dig the ground in front of then with his hands. "What are you doing?" She asked.

"This was a technique I used to use when I was a drama coach." He explained, "We're going to have a 'letting go' ceremony!"

"A what?" she asked.

"When any of my students was having problems focussing on their acting we would have a letting go ceremony. You take an object that is the manifestation of your problem and you bury it."

"What are we, twelve?" She said, skeptically.

He looked up at her and rolled his eyes, "Off course it doesn't fix the problem completely, but the mind is a powerful tool. If you really concentrate while you bury it, really believe that you are bury the past, the pain with it, it will help you take the next step Teresa, it will help you to move on."

"I don't know…"

"Just trust me?" he asked and she relented. She held the matchbox over the hole in the ground that he had dug and looked over at him. He nodded, "Let it go Teresa." He said and with a trembling hand she dropped it inside. "Now bury it, bury the past, break free of the pain he has caused you, of the hold he has on you!" She began to cover the matchbox with the dirt, feeling a deep sadness as the little box slowly began to disappear from view, knowing she would never see it or hold it in her hands again. When she had finished she just sat there, unmoving, until she felt a warm hand on her back. "Are you okay?" he asked softly as he knelt beside her.

She nodded, trying unsuccessfully to keep the tears from falling. "I just didn't expect it to feel so...real," she explained.

"I know," he soothed and encouraged her to sit back down again.

A brief silence ensued as he let her collect her thoughts before he asked, "Why would your brothers tell your ex-husband about your money problems after everything he did to you?"

"They always loved Jack," she replied, "to them, he was this amazing guy who could do no wrong in their eyes. They blamed me for the divorce. They said I was a workaholic, obsessed with my novel that I couldn't see that my marriage was falling apart because of it!" She paused, attempting to quell the wave of anger she felt rising up inside of her, "All except Tommy. He always took my side."

Patrick looked shocked, "But the abuse and...the baby?"

"They didn't know." She looked at him, "I never told them."

"Why?"

"'Cos they wouldn't have believed me anyway. On top of everything that happened, I didn't want to be called a liar as well. Tommy would have believed me but he can't keep secrets, he would have told everyone."

"So you mean that me and…"

"Yes, you, Grace and her fiancé are the only ones who know...and I'd like it to stay that way!" he eyes were pleading his silence.

"Come here," he said as he held his arms open. She moved to sit next to him as he wrapped his arms around her. "I'm not going to tell anyone Teresa. I swear."

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, each caught up in their own thoughts until Teresa broke the silence. "What about you Patrick? What are you going to bury for the letting go ceremony?" Patrick didn't answer her but just stared at the rippling water before him. "Patrick?" she asked again.

"I don't have anything I can let go of," he answered, "to be honest Teresa, I don't think I'm ready. The only things I have left of him are a few trophies and his Forty-niner's jersey!" He smiled in reminiscence, "He wore it to rehearsals, said it brought him luck. I told his mother she should keep it but she insisted that I have it! It's all I have left of him...I...I just can't let it go, not yet."

Teresa nodded in understanding, "Tell me about him, about Alejandro?" she asked, "tell me about all the good times." Patrick smiled and began to tell her his story about how he came to know the boy whom he had thought of as his son. Teresa listened intently, noting the warmth of love in his eyes as he narrated each event.

Before they knew it, dusk had begun to settle and it was starting to get dark. Patrick crumpled up the now empty bag from the bakery and disposed of it in a trash can as the two of them began to walk home. Patrick walked her to her front door and before saying goodbye Teresa looked at him and smiled. "Thank you for today Patrick, I really needed this."

He smiled and shrugged, "I just thought you'd like a change from my messy house!" he joked.

"It's not that bad," she said.

"That's not what you said earlier!" his voice had become softer, his pupils widening at the way she bit her bottom lip, drawing his attention to her mouth.

Her eyes discreetly roamed his body as he spoke and she noticed how handsome he looked in the moonlight. Her body was reacting to him and she realized she had to get inside before she did something she knew she would regret. The way he looked at her; his eyes full of tenderness but with a hint of mischief, she wanted him badly but she knew that Patrick Jane was not a one night stand. They had begun to develop a friendship and trust that Teresa never believed she'd ever have again and she didn't want to ruin it. She knew she was not ready for anything more so she reluctantly she said the words she knew she had to say, "Goodnight Patrick."

"Goodnight Teresa," he replied, his smile as delicious as candy.

She watched as he turned around and walked to his house, feeling a pang of disappointment as he opened the door and went inside.

Later that night Patrick Jane was woken from his sleep by the ringing of his cell phone. He opened his eyes and realized that he had fallen asleep on his couch again. Blinking, he sat up, reached for his phone and looked at the caller ID - it was Teresa. He looked at the clock and saw that it was almost midnight. He couldn't help the smile that graced his lips at the thoughts he knew he shouldn't be having about her. _Maybe she needs some late night inspiration from her muse?_ He thought and then immediately chastised himself. _Teresa isn't a fling! _He thought as he answered the phone. "Teresa!" he began, unable to keep the joy out of his voice.

"Patrick he's outside!" came her voice from the other end.

Patrick's smile fell upon hearing the panic in her voice. "Who?" he asked, concerned.

"Jack!" she replied.

Just then he heard a male voice shout, "Teresa, open the door! I just want to talk to you!"

Patrick looked out the window and saw a tall male silhouette standing outside her house.

"He called me about an hour ago," Teresa explained, "said he wanted to help me but I told him again that I didn't need his help. He just won't let this go, now he's found out where I live...I'm scared Patrick, it's like he's stalking me!"

"It's okay, stay inside, I'll get rid of him!" he told her then promptly hung up and walked toward his front door.

As he walked outside Patrick could see Teresa peeking out from behind the curtains and as he approached her house he began to get a better look at the man who was now throwing rocks at her bedroom window. Her ex-husband was better looking than he had imagined. He had the face of a movie star; he could have been the male lead in a romance movie but Patrick knew that underneath those good look there was a darkness, a selfishness and it made him sick to think of what he had done to Teresa. Patrick felt his fists clench as he approached him.

"What are you doing!" Patrick demanded and he stormed towards Jack.

"None of your business!" he replied but Patrick continued his approach.

"She doesn't want to see you!" he told him and this caught Jack's attention.

"Who the hell are you?" he asked.

"I'm a friend of Teresa's and if you know what's good for you, you'll walk away right now, leave town and stay out of her life forever!"

Jack looked Patrick up and down and smirked as he replied, "Is that right? And what are you gonna do?" He was about to move toward Teresa's front door when Patrick grabbed him roughly by the arm and pulled him aside. "I said leave her alone!"

Jack was so busy trying to pull his arm out of Patrick's grasp that he didn't see the fist flying toward his face. The next thing he knew, he was on the lawn with Patrick standing over him, anger written all over his face. He picked himself up and noticed that a few of the neighbors were watching what was going on. Someone threatened to call 911 and Jack knew he had to leave. Just as he had begun to walk away Patrick told him, his voice low and threatening, "If you _ever_ bother her again I swear to _God_ I'll do more than mess up that pretty face of yours!" Without another word, Jack quickly walked towards his car. Patrick watched as he drove off, and then he heard a click of the lock as Teresa opened her front door. He turned around and walked toward her.

"Has he gone?" she asked.

"He's gone." He told her gently as he stood facing her. He noticed the tear tracks on her face and saw that she was trembling.

"So much for burying the past," she said despondently.

"Hey," he began, putting his hands on the tops of her arms, "he's not coming back."

"But what if he does?" she looked up at him, her green eyes filled with melancholy and fear. "Patrick...will you stay with me? I...just don't want to be alone tonight."

He looked at her and felt his heart break, "Okay." He told her and she led him inside.

Patrick walked into the living room, "I'll sleep on the couch," he told her, "don't worry, it's going to be okay."

He heard her begin to walk up the stairs when he noticed that she had suddenly stopped. He turned around to look at her. She had one arm on the bannister and she was looking at him. "Teresa?" he asked but as he walked toward her she began to cry. He ran up to her and took her in his arms, "It's okay, it's okay." He soothed. "Come on, let's get you to bed okay?" he said as helped her up the stairs.

Once they reached her bedroom she climbed into her bed and he pulled the covers over her, only then noticing her choice of nightwear. He smiled a little as he tucked her in, stroking her hair as he whispered, "I'll be right here till you fall asleep, okay?" She nodded and closed her eyes. Patrick sat on the floor next to the bed and rested his head against the side of the mattress. His eyes wandered about the moonlit room and he saw her baseball bat resting again her closet door. He thought back to the first conversation they'd ever had and he realized now why she hated guns so much. He closed his eyes as he listened to the ticking clock on the wall and the sound of her breathing. It wasn't long before her breathing evened out and she fell asleep.

Patrick woke up just as the dawn had begun to break, he opened his eyes and looked over at the sleeping form of Teresa Lisbon. He was glad that Jack hadn't come back and she had managed to sleep through the night. Slowly, he stood up, silently walked towards the window and looked outside. The sun was beginning to make its ascent into the sky; its soft illumination a tender kiss good morning to the sleeping residents of Sacramento. Patrick inhaled deeply, feeling his body fill up with life and as he exhaled he smiled as an idea came into his head. He quietly left the house and went back into his own. Quickly, he ran up the stairs and into his bedroom. When he got there he opened up his closet and searched the top shelf until he found what he was looking for. As he stepped back with the item in his hand he looked at it, first with sadness and then with joy.

When Teresa woke up she found that she was alone. Assuming that Patrick had gone to sleep on the couch, she left the bedroom and walked downstairs, however when she got there he was nowhere to be seen. She called his name but got no answer. She decided to go into the kitchen to get herself some coffee but as she walked into the room she saw that there was something on her kitchen counter. She walked toward the counter and was taken back by what she saw. It was a football jersey with a note on top which read: _I noticed that you like to sleep in jerseys so I thought you might like this. Patrick J._


End file.
